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The bushes parted and the face of an angel looked 
through ” 



BY 

GEN 


•V — 

STRATTON -PO 

AUTHOR OP TOE SONG OP THE 


DECORATIONS 
^JBpT££TETS< 
CRAWFORD 


?( NE^TYORK^ ^ 
GROSSET & DUNLAP 


PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT, I904, 1916, BY 

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF 
TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, 
INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 

"b \ 5 t> ^ 
Replacement 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATE8 
AT 

THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. T 


TO 

ALL GOOD IRISHMEN 
IN GENERAL 
AND ONE 

CHARLES DARWIN PORTER 
IN PARTICULAR 













1 











«• 















CONTENTS 

» osufsaa not 

I. Wherein Great Risks Are Taken and the 

Limberlost Guard is Hired ... 3 

II. Wherein Freckles Proves His Mettle and 

Finds Friends 17 

III. Wherein a Feather Falls and a Soul Is 

Born ........ 33 

IV. Wherein Freckle Faces Troubles Biavely 

and Opens the Way for New Experi- 
ences 57 

V. Wherein an Angel Materializes, and a Man 

Worships 93 

1 VI. Wherein a Fight Occurs and Women Snoot 

Straight 1 13 

VII. Wherein Freckles Wins Honour and Finds 

a Footprint on the Trail. . . .129 

VIII. Wherein Freckles Meets a Man of Affairs 

and Loses Nothing by the Encounter . 139 

IX. Wherein the Limberlost Falls upon Mrs. 

Duncan and Freckles Comes to the 
Rescue 159 

X. Wherein Freckles Strives Mightily and 

the Angel Rewards Him .... 169 

XI. Wherein the Butterflies Go on a Spree and 

Freckles Informs the Bird Woman . 18? 


CONTENTS 


via 

. HA PTE R PAO* 

XII. Wherein Black Jack Captures Freckles 

and the Angel Captures Jack . . . 195 

XIII. Wherein the Angel Releases Freckles, and 

the Curse of Black Jack Falls Upon Her 217 

XIV. Wherein Freckles Nurses a Heart-ache and 

Black Jack Drops Out . . . .235 

XV. Wherein Freckles and the Angel Try Tak- 
ing a Picture, and Little Chicken Fur- 
nishes the Subject 253 

XVI. Wherein the Angel Locates a Rare Tree 

and Dines with the Gang .... 265 

XVII. Wherein Freckles Offers His Life for His 

Love and Gets a Broken Body . . 28r 

XVIII. Wherein Freckles Refuses Love Without 
Knowledge of Honourable Birth, and the 
Angel Goes in Quest of It . . . 301 

XIX. Wherein Freckles Finds His Birthright and 

the Angel Loses Her Heart . . *323 

XX. Wherein Freckles Returns to the Limber- 
lost, and Lord O’More Sails for Ireland 
Without Him 339 


CHARACTERS 


Freckles, a Plucky Waif Who Guards the Limberiost 
Timber Leases and Dreams of Angels. 

The Swamp Angel, in Whom Freckles’ Sweetest Dream 
Materializes. 

McLean, a Member of a Grand Rapids Lumber Com- 
pany, Who Befriends Freckles. 

Mrs. Duncan, Who Gives Mother-love and a Home to 
Freckles. 

Duncan, Head Teamster of McLean’s Timber Gang. 

Lord and Lady O’More, Who Come from Ireland in 
Quest of a Lost Relative. 

The Man of Affairs, Brusque of Manner, but Big of 
Heart. 

Wessner, a Dutch Timber-thief Who Wants Rascality 
Made Easy. 

Black Jack, a Villain to Whom Thought of Repentance 
Comes too Late. 

Sears, Camp Cook. 




ILLUSTRATIONS 


“The bushes parted and the face of an angel 


looked through ” Frontispiece 

FACING PAGB 

“Freckles’ chickens were awaiting him at the 
edge of the clearing” 26 

“‘Now, Freckles, you!’ she cried. ‘It’s 
your turn. Please get up!’” . . . . 284 

He arose instantly. “I beg your pardon,” 
he said 318 



CHAPTER I 


Wherein Great Risks Are Taken and 
Limberlost Guard Is Hired 







































y 













r 


































* 


* 












♦ 









































FRECKLES 


CHAPTER I 

Wherein Great Risks Are Taken and the Limber- 
lost Guard Is Hired 

F RECKLES came down the corduroy that crosses 
the lower end of the Limberlost. At a glance he 
might have been mistaken for a tramp, but he was 
truly seeking work. He was intensely eager to belong 
somewhere and to be attached to almost any enterprise 
that would furnish him food and clothing. 

Long before he came in sight of the camp of the Grand 
Rapids Lumber Company, he could hear the cheery 
voices of the men, the neighing of the horses, and could 
scent the tempting odours of cooking food. A feeling of 
homeless friendlessness swept over him in a sickening 
wave. Without stopping to think, he turned into the 
newly made road and followed it to the camp, where the 
gang was making ready for supper and bed. 

The scene was intensely attractive. The thickness of 
the swamp made a dark, massive background below, 
while above towered gigantic trees. The men were call- 
ing jovially back and forth as they unharnessed tired 
horses that fell into attitudes of rest and crunched, in deep 
content, the grain given them. Duncan, the brawny 
3 


FRECKLES 


4 

Scotch head-teamster, lovingly wiped the flanks of his big 
bays with handfuls of pawpaw leaves, as he softly whistled, 
“O wha will be my dearie, 0!” and a cricket beneath the 
leaves at his feet accompanied him. The green wood fire 
hissed and crackled merrily. Wreathing tongues of 
flame wrapped around the big black kettles, and when the 
cook lifted the lids to plunge in his testing-fork, gusts of 
savoury odours escaped. 

Freckles approached him. 

“I want to speak with the Boss,” he said. 

The cook glanced at him and answered carelessly: “He 
can’t use you.” 

The colour flooded Freckles’ face, but he said simply: 
“If you will be having the goodness to point him out, we 
will give him a chance to do his own talking.” 

With a shrug of astonishment, the cook led the way to a 
rough board table where a broad, square-shouldered man 
was bending over some account-books. 

“Mr. McLean, here’s another man wanting to be taken 
on the gang, I suppose,” he said. 

“All right,” came the cheery answer. “I never needed 
a good man more than I do just now.” 

The manager turned a page and carefully began a new 
line. 

“No use of your bothering with this fellow,” volunteered 
the cook. “He hasn’t but one hand.” 

The flush on Freckles’ face burned deeper. His lips 
thinned to a mere line. He lifted his shoulders, took a 
step forward, and thrust out his right arm, from which the 
sleeve dangled empty at the wrist. 


GREAT RISKS TAKEN 5 

“That will do, Sears,” came the voice of the Boss 
sharply. “I will interview my man when I finish this 
report.” 

He turned to his work, while the cook hurried to the 
fires. Freckles stood one instant as he had braced him- 
self to meet the eyes of the manager; then his arm dropped 
and a wave of whiteness swept him. The Boss had not 
even turned his head. He had used the possessive. When 
he said “my man,” the hungry heart of Freckles went 
reaching toward him. 

The boy drew a quivering breath. Then he whipped 
off his old hat and beat the dust from it carefully. With 
his left hand he caught the right sleeve, wiped his sweaty 
face, and tried to straighten his hair with his fingers. He 
broke a spray of ironwort beside him and used the purple 
bloom to beat the dust from his shoulders and limbs. The 
Boss, busy over his report, was, nevertheless, vaguely alive 
to the toilet being made behind him, and scored one for the 
man. 

McLean was a Scotchman. It was his habit to work 
slowly and methodically. The men of his camps never 
had known him to be in a hurry or to lose his temper. Dis- 
cipline was inflexible, but the Boss was always kind. His 
habits were simple. He shared camp life with his gangs. 
The only visible signs of wealth consisted of a big, shim- 
mering diamond stone of ice and fire that glittered and 
burned on one of his fingers, and the dainty, beautiful 
thoroughbred mare he rode between camps and across the 
country on business. 

No man of McLean’s gangs could honestly saj r that he 


6 


FRECKLE 




ever had been overdriven or underpaid. The Boss never 
had exacted any deference from his men, yet so intense 
was his personality that no man of them ever had at- 
tempted a familiarity. They all knew him to be a thorough 
gentleman, and that in the great timber city several 
millions stood to his credit. 

He was the only son of that McLean who had sent out 
the finest ships ever built in Scotland. That his son 
should carry on this business after the father’s death had 
been his ambition. He had sent the boy through the uni- 
versities of Oxford and Edinburgh, and allowed him 
several years’ travel before he should attempt his first com- 
mission for the firm. 

Then he was ordered to southern Canada and Michigan 
to purchase a consignment of tall, straight timber for 
masts, and south to Indiana for oak beams. The young 
man entered these mighty forests, parts of which lay un- 
touched since the dawn of the morning of time. The clear, 
cool, pungent atmosphere was intoxicating. The intense 
silence, like that of a great empty cathedral, fascinated 
him. He gradually learned that, to the shy wood creatures 
that darted across his path or peeped inquiringly from 
leafy ambush, he was brother. He found himself ap- 
proaching, with a feeling of reverence, those majestic trees 
that had stood through ages of sun, wind, and snow. 
Soon it became difficult to fell them. When he had filled 
his order and returned home, he was amazed to learn that 
in the swamps and forests he had lost his heart, and it was 
calling — forev er calling him. 

When he inherited his father’s property, he promptly 


GREAT RISKS TAKEN 


7 

disposed of it, and, with his mother, founded a home in a 
splendid residence in the outskirts of Grand Rapids, 
With three partners, he organized a lumber company. 
His work was to purchase, fell, and ship the timber to the 
mills. Marshall managed the milling process and passed 
the lumber to the factory. From the lumber, Barthol 
made beautiful and useful furniture, which Uptegrove 
scattered all over the world from a big wholesale house. 
Of the thousands who saw their faces reflected on the 
polished surfaces of that furniture and found comfort in 
its use, few there were to whom it suggested mighty forests 
and trackless swamps, and the man, big of soul and body, 
who cut his way through them, and with the eye of ex- 
perience doomed the proud trees that were now entering 
the homes of civilization for service. 

When McLean turned from his finished report, he faced, 
a young man, yet under twenty, tall, spare, heavily 
framed, closely freckled, and red-haired, with a homely 
Irish face, but in the steady gray eyes, straightly meeting 
his searching ones of blue, there was unswerving candour 
and the appearance of longing not to be ignored. He was 
dressed in the roughest of farm clothing, and seemed tired 
to the point of falling. 

“You are looking for work?” questioned McLean. 

“Yis,” answered Freckles. 

“I am very sorry,” said the Boss with genuine sym- 
pathy in his every tone, “but there is only one man I want 
at present — a hardy, big fellow with a stout heart and a 
strong body. I hoped that you would do, but I am afraid 
vou are too young and scarcely strong enough.” 


8 


FRECKLES 


Freckles stood, hat in hand, watching McLean. 

“And what was it you thought I might be doing ?” he 
asked. 

The Boss could scarcely repress a start. Somewhere 
before accident and poverty there had been an ancestor 
who used cultivated English, even with an accent. The 
boy spoke in a mellow Irish voice, sweet and pure. It was 
scarcely definite enough to be called brogue, yet there was 
a trick in the turning of the sentence, the wrong sound of a 
letter here and there, that was almost irresistible to Me* 
Lean, and presaged a misuse of infinitives and possessives 
with which he was very familiar and which touched him 
nearly. He was of foreign birth, and despite years of alien- 
ation, in times of strong feeling he committed inherited 
sins of accent and construction. 

“It’s no child’s job,” answered McLean. “I am the 
field manager of a big lumber company. We have just 
leased two thousand acres of the Limberlost. Many of 
these trees are of great value. We can’t leave our camp, 
six miles south, for almost a year yet; so we have blazed a 
trail and strung barbed wires securely around this lease. 
Before we return to our work, I must put this property in 
the hands of a reliable, brave, strong man who will guard 
it every hour of the day, and sleep with one eye open at 
night. I shall require the entire length of the trail to be 
walked at least twice each day, to make sure that our lines 
are up and that no one has been trespassing.” 

Freckles was leaning forward, absorbing every word 
with such intense eagerness that he was beguiling the 
Boss into explanations he had never intended making. 


GREAT RISKS TAKEN 9 

“But why wouldn’t that be the finest job in the world 
for me?” he pleaded. “I am never sick. I could walk 
the trail twice, three times every day, and I’d be watching 
sharp all the while.” 

“It’s because you are scarcely more than a boy, and this 
will be a trying job for a work-hardened man,” answered 
McLean. “You see, in the first place, you would be 
afraid. In stretching our lines, we killed six rattlesnakes 
almost as long as your body and as thick as your arm. 
It’s the price of your life to start through the marsh-grass 
surrounding the swamp unless you are covered with heavy 
leather above your knees. 

“You should be able to swim in case high water under- 
mines the temporary bridge we have built where Sleepy 
Snake Creek enters the swamp. The fall and winter 
changes of weather are abrupt and severe, while I would 
want strict watch kept every day. You would always be 
alone, and I don’t guarantee what is in the Limberlost. It 
is lying here as it has laid since the beginning of time, and 
it is alive with forms and voices. I don’t pretend to say 
what all of them come from; but from a few slinking 
shapes I’ve seen, and hair-raising yells I’ve heard, I’d 
rather not confront their owners myself; and I am neither 
weak nor fearful. 

“Worst of all, any man who will enter the swamp to 
mark and steal timber is desperate. One of my employees 
at the south camp, John Carter, compelled me to dis- 
charge him for a number of serious reasons. He came 
here, entered the swamp alone, and succeeded in locating 
and marking a number of valuable trees that he was en- 


io 


FRECKLES 


deavouring to sell to a rival company when we secured the 
lease. He has sworn to have these trees if he has to die or 
to kill others to get them; and he is a man that the strong- 
est would not care to meet.” 

“But if he came to steal trees, wouldn’t he bring teams 
and men enough: that all any one could do would be to 
watch and be after you?” queried the boy. 

“Yes,” replied McLean. 

“Then why couldn’t I be watching just as closely, and 
coming as fast, as an older, stronger man?” asked Freckles, 

“Why, by George, you could!” exclaimed McLean. “1 
don’t know as the size of a man would be half so important 
as his grit and faithfulness, come to think of it. Sit on 
that log there and we will talk it over. What is your 
name?” 

Freckles shook his head at the proffer of a seat, and 
folding his arms, stood straight as the trees around him. 
He grew a shade whiter, but his eyes never faltered. 

“Freckles!” he said. 

“Good enough for everyday,” laughed McLean, “but 1 
scarcely can put ‘Freckles ’ on the company’s books. Tell 
me your name.” 

“i haven’t any name,” replied the boy. 

“I don’t understand,” said McLean. 

“I was thinking from the voice and the face of you that 
you wouldn’t,” said Freckles, slowly. “I’ve spent more 
time on it than I ever did on anything else in all me life, 
and I don’t understand. Does it seem to you that any 
one would take a new-born baby and row over it, until it 
was bruised black, cut off its hand, and leave it out in a 


GREAT RISKS TAKEN 


ii 


bitter night on the steps of a charity home, to the care of 
strangers? That’s what somebody did to me.” 

McLean stared aghast. He had no reply ready, and 
presently in a low voice he suggested : “And after ?” 

“The Home people took me in, and I was there the full 
legal age and several years over. For the most part we 
were a lot of little Irishmen together. They could always 
find homes for the other children, but nobody would ever 
be wanting me on account of me arm.” 

“Were they kind to you?” McLean regretted the 
question the minute it was asked. 

“ I don’t know,” answered Freckles. The reply sounded 
so hopeless, even to his own ears, that he hastened to 
qualify it by adding: “You see, it’s like this, sir. Kind- 
nesses that people are paid to lay off in job lots and that 
belong equally to several hundred others, ain’t going to be 
soaking into any one fellow so much.” 

“Go on,” said McLean, nodding comprehendingly. 

“There’s nothing worth the taking of your time to tell,” 
replied Freckles. “The Home was in Chicago, and I was 
there all me life until three months ago. When I was too 
old for the training they gave to the little children, they 
sent me to the closest ward school as long as the law would 
let them; but I was never like any of the other children, 
and they all knew it. I’d to go and come like a prisoner, 
and be working around the Home early and late for me 
board and clothes. I always wanted to learn mighty bad, 
but I was glad when that was over. 

“Every few days, all me life, I’d to be called up, looked 
over, and refused a home and love, on account of me hand 


12 


FRECKLES 


and ugly face; but it was all the home Fd ever known, and 
I didn’t seem to belong to any place else. 

“Then a new superintendent was put in. He wasn’t 
for being like any of the others, and he swore he’d weed 
me out the first thing he did. He made a plan to send me 
down the State to a man he said he knew who needed a 
boy. He wasn’t for remembering to tell that man that I 
was a hand short, and he knocked me down the minute he 
found I was the boy who had been sent him. Between 
noon and that evening, he and his son close my age had 
me in pretty much the same shape in which I was found in 
the beginning, so I lay awake that night and ran away. 
Fd like to have squared me account with that boy before 
I left, but I didn’t dare for fear of waking the old man, and 
I knew I couldn’t handle the two of them; but Fm hoping 
to meet him alone some day before I die.” 

McLean tugged at his moustache to hide the smile on his 
lips, but he liked the boy all the better for this confession. 

“I didn’t even have to steal clothes to get rid of starting 
in me Home ones,” Freckles continued, “for they had 
already taken all me clean, neat things for the boy and put 
me into his rags, and that went almost as sore as the beat- 
ings, for where I was we were always kept tidy and sweet- 
smelling, anyway. I hustled clear into this State before I 
learned that man couldn’t have kept me if he’d wanted to. 
When I thought I was good and away from him, I com- 
menced hunting work, but it is with everybody else just 
as it is with you, sir. Big, strong, whole men are the only 
ones for being wanted.” 

“I have been studying over this matter,” answered 


GREAT RISKS TAKEN 13 

McLean. “I am not so sure but that a man no older than 
you and similar in every way could do this work very well, 
if he were not a coward, and had it in him to be trust- 
worthy and industrious.” 

Freckles came forward a step. 

“If you will give me a job where I can earn me food, 
clothes, and a place to sleep,” he said, “if I can have a Boss 
to work for like other men, and a place I feel I’ve a right 
to, I will do precisely what you tell me or die trying.” 

He spoke so convincingly that McLean believed, al- 
though in his heart he knew that to employ a stranger 
would be wretched business for a man with the interests 
he had involved. 

“Very well,” the Boss found himself answering, “I will 
enter you on my pay-rolls. We’ll have supper, and then 
I will provide you with clean clothing, wading-boots, the 
wire-mending apparatus, and a revolver. The first thing 
in the morning, I will take you the length of the trail my- 
self and explain fully what I want done. All I ask of you 
is to come to me at once at the south camp and tell me as a 
man if you find this job too hard for you. It will not sur- 
prise me. It is work that few men would perform faith- 
fully. What name shall I put down?” 

Freckles’ gaze never left McLean’s face, and the Boss 
«saw the swift spasm of pain that swept his lonely, sensitive 
features. 

“I haven’t any name,” he said stubbornly, “no more 
than one somebody clapped on to me when they put me on 
the Home books, with not the thought or care they’d 
name a house cat. I’ve seen how they enter those poor. 


FRECKLES 


H 

little abandoned devils often enough to know. What 
they called me is no more my name than it is yours. I 
don’t know what mine is, and I never will; but I am going 
to be your man and do your work, and I’ll be glad to an- 
swer to any name you choose to call me. Won’t you 
please be giving me a name, Mr. McLean?” 

The Boss wheeled abruptly and began stacking his 
books. What he was thinking was probably what any 
other gentleman would have thought in the circumstances. 
With his eyes still downcast, and in a voice harsh with 
huskiness, he spoke. 

“I will tell you what we will do, my lad,” he said. “My 
father was my ideal man, and I loved him better than any 
other I have ever known. He went out five years ago, but 
that he would have been proud to leave you his name I 
firmly believe. If I give to you the name of my nearest 
kin and the man I loved best — will that do?” 

Freckles’ rigid attitude relaxed suddenly. His head 
dropped, and big tears splashed on the soiled calico shirt. 
McLean was not surprised at the silence, for he found that 
talking came none too easily just then. 

“All right,” he said. “I will write it on the roll — 
James Ross McLean.” 

“Thank you mightily,” said Freckles. “That makes 
me feel almost as if I belonged, already.” 

“You do,” said McLean. “Until some one armed with 
every right comes to claim you, you are mine. Now, 
come and take a bath, have some supper, and go to bed.” 

As Freckles followed into the lights and sounds of tha 
camp, his heart and soul were singing for joy. 


CHAPTER II 


Wherein Freckles Proves His Mettle 
and Finds Friends 


0 


* 


CHAPTER II 



Wherein Freckles Proves His Mettle and Finds 
Friends 

" r EXT morning found Freckles in clean, whole 
clothing, fed, and rested. Then McLean outfitted 
him and gave him careful instruction in the use of 
his weapon. The Boss showed him around the timber- 
line, and engaged him a place to board with the family of 
his head-teamster, Duncan, whom he had brought from 
Scotland with him, and who lived in a small clearing he 
was working out between the swamp and the corduroy. 
When the gang was started for the south camp, Freckles 
was left to guard a fortune in the Limberlost. That 
he was under guard himself those first weeks he never 
knew. 

Each hour was torture to the boy. The restricted life 
of a great city orphanage was the other extreme of the 
world compared with the Limberlost. He was afraid for 
his life every minute. The heat was intense. The heavy 
wading-boots rubbed his feet until they bled. He was 
sore and stiff* from his long tramp and outdoor exposure. 
The seven miles of trail was agony at every step. H 
practised at night, under the direction of Duncan, until 
grew sure in the use of his revolver. He cut a s 
hickory cudgel, with a knot on the end as big as his 


i8 


FRECKLES 


this never left his hand. What he thought in those first 
days he himself could not recall clearly afterward. 

His heart stood still every time he saw the beautiful 
marsh-grass begin a sinuous waving against the play of the 
wind, as McLean had told him it would. He bolted half a 
mile with the first boom of the bittern, and his hat lifted 
with every yelp of the sheitpoke. Once he saw a lean* 
shadowy form following him, and fired his revolver. Then 
he was frightened worse than ever for fear it might have 
been Duncan’s collie. 

The first afternoon that he found his wires down, and he 
was compelled to plunge knee deep into the black swamp- 
muck to restring them, he became so ill from fear and 
nervousness that he scarcely could control his shaking 
hand to do the work. With every step, he felt that he 
would miss secure footing and be swallowed in that cling- 
ing sea of blackness. In dumb agony he plunged forward, 
clingingto the postsand trees until he had finished restring- 
ing and testing the wire. He had consumed much time. 
Night closed in. The Limberlost stirred gently, then 
shook herself, growled, and awoke around him. 

There seemed to be a great owl hooting from every 
hollow tree, and a little one screeching from every knot- 
hole. The bellowing of big bullfrogs was not sufficiently 
deafening to shut out the wailing of whip-poor-wills that 
eemed to come from every bush. Night-hawks swept 
r .t him with their shivering cry, and bats struck his face, 
rowling wild cat missed its catch and screamed with 
A straying fox bayed incessantly for ks mate. 

.'he hair on the back of Freckles’ neck arose as bristles. 


PROVES HIS METTLE 


19 

«*nd his knees wavered beneath him. He could not see 
whether the dreaded snakes were on the trail, or, in the 
pandemonium, hear the rattle for which McLean had 
cautioned him to listen. He stood motionless in an agony 
of fear. His breath whistled between his teeth. The per- 
spiration ran down his face and body in little streams* 
Something big, black, and heavy came crashing through 
the swamp close to him, and with a yell of utter panic 
Freckles ran — how far he did not know; but at last he 
gained control over himself and retraced his steps. His 
jaws set stiffly and the sweat dried on his body. When he 
reached the place from which he had started to run, he 
turned and with measured steps made his way down the 
line. After a time he realized that he was only walking, sc* 
he faced that sea of horrors again. When he came toward 
the corduroy, the cudgel fell to test the wire at each step 
Sounds that curdled his blood seemed to encompass him„ 
and shapes of terror to draw closer and closer. Fear had 
so gained the mastery that he did not dare look behind 
him; and just when he felt that he would fall dead before 
he ever reached the clearing, came Duncan’s rolling calh 
“Freckles! Freckles!” A shuddering sob burst in the 
boy’s dry throat; but he only told Duncan that finding the 
wire down had caused the delay. 

The next morning he started on time. Day after day, 
with his heart pounding, he ducked, dodged, ran when he 
could, and fought when he was brought to bay. If he 
ever had an idea of giving up, no one knew it; for he clung 
to his job without the shadow of wavering. All these 
things, in so far as he guessed them, Duncan, who had been 


20 


FRECKLES 


set to watch the first weeks of Freckles’ work, carried to 
the Boss at the south camp; but the innermost, exquisite 
torture of the thing the big Scotchman never guessed, and 
McLean, with his finer perceptions, came only a little 
closer. 

After a few weeks, when Freckles learned that he was 
still living, that he had a home, and the very first money 
he ever had possessed was safe in his pockets, he began to 
grow proud. He yet side stepped, dodged, and hurried to 
avoid being late again, but he was gradually developing 
the fearlessness that men ever acquire of dangers to which 
they are hourly accustomed. 

His heart seemed to be leaping when his first rattler dis- 
puted the trail with him, but he mustered courage to at- 
tack it with his club. After its head had been crushed, he 
mastered an Irishman’s inborn repugnance for snakes 
sufficiently to cut off its rattles to show Duncan. With 
this victory, his greatest fear of them was gone. 

Then he began to realize that with the abundance of food 
in the swamp, flesh-hunters would not come on the trail and 
attack him, and he had his revolver for defence if they did. 
He soon learned to laugh at the big, floppy birds that made 
horrible noises. One day, watching behind a tree, he saw 
a crane solemnly performing a few measures of a belated 
nuptial song-and-dance with his mate. Realizing that it 
was intended in tenderness, no matter how it appeared, the 
lonely, starved heart of the boy sympathized with them. 

Before the first month passed, he was fairly easy about 
his job; by the next he rather liked it. Nature can be 
trusted to work her own miracle in the heart of any man 


PROVES HIS METTLE 21 

whose daily task keeps him alone among her sights, sounds, 
and silences. 

When day after day the only thing that relieved his 
utter loneliness was the companionship of the birds and 
beasts of the swamp, it was the most natural thing in the 
world that Freckles should turn to them for friendship. 
He began by instinctively protecting the weak and help- 
less. He was astonished at the quickness with which they 
became accustomed to him and the disregard they showed 
for his movements, when they learned that he was not a 
hunter, while the club he carried was used more frequently 
for their benefit than his own. He scarcely could believe 
what he saw. 

From the effort to protect the birds and animals, it was 
only a short step to the possessive feeling, and with that 
sprang the impulse to caress and provide. Through fall, 
when brooding was finished and the upland birds sought 
the swamp in swarms to feast on its seeds and berries. 
Freckles was content with watching them and speculating 
about them. Outside of half a dozen of the very com- 
monest they were strangers to him. The likeness of their 
actions to humanity was an hourly surprise. 

When black frost began stripping the Limberlost, cut- 
ting the ferns, shearing the vines from the trees, mowing 
the succulent green things of the swaie, and setting the 
leaves swirling down, he watched the departing troops of 
his friends with dismay. He began to realize that he 
would be left alone. He made especial efforts toward 
friendliness with the hope that he could induce some of 
them to stay. It was then that he conceived the idea of 


52 


FRECKLES 


carrying food to the birds; for he saw that they were lea^ 
ing for lack of it; but he could not stop them. Day after 
day, flocks gathered and departed: by the time the first 
snow whitened his trail around the Limberlost, there were 
left only the little black-and-white j uncos, the sapsuckers, 
yellowhammers, a few patriarchs among the flaming car- 
dinals, the blue jays, the crows, and the quail. 

Then Freckles began his wizard work. He cleared a 
space of swale, and twice a day he spread a birds’ banquet. 
By the middle of December the strong winds of winter had 
beaten most of the seed from the grass and bushes. The 
snow fell, covering the swamp, and food was very scarce 
and difficult to find. The birds scarcely waited until 
Freckles’ back was turned to attack his provisions. In a 
few weeks they flew toward the clearing to meet him. 
During the bitter weather of January they came half-way 
to the cabin every morning, and fluttered around him as 
] oves all the way to the feeding-ground. Before F ebruary 
they were so accustomed to him, and so hunger-driven, 
that they would perch on his head and shoulders, and the 
saucy jays would try to pry into his pockets. 

Then Freckles added to wheat and crumbs, every scrap 
of refuse food he could find at the cabin. He carried to his 
pets the parings of apples, turnips, potatoes, stray cab- 
bage-leaves, and carrots, and tied to the bushes meat- 
bones having scraps of fat and gristle. One morning, 
coming to his feeding-ground unusually early, he found a 
gorgeous cardinal and a rabbit side by side sociably 
nibbling a cabbage-leaf, and that instantly gave to him 
the idea of cracking nuts, from the store he had gathered 


PROVES HIS METTLE 


23 

for Duncan’s children, for the squirrels, in the effort to add 
them to his family. Soon he had them coming — red, gray, 
and black; then he became filled with a vast impatience 
th«fc he did not know their names or habits. 

So the winter passed. Every week McLean rode to the 
Limberlost; never on the same day or at the same hour. 
Always he found Freckles at his work, faithful and brave, 
no matter how severe the weather. 

The boy’s earnings constituted his first money; and 
when the Boss explained to him that he could leave them 
safe at a bank and carry away a scrap of paper that repre- 
sented the amount, he went straight on every pay-day and 
made his deposit, keeping out barely what was necessary 
for his board and clothing. What he wanted to do with 
his money he did not know, but it gave to him a sense of 
freedom and power to feel that it was there — it was his and 
he could have it when he chose. In imitation of McLean, 
he bought a small pocket account-book, in which he care- 
fully set down every dollar he earned and every penny he 
spent. As his expenses were small and the Boss paid him 
generously, it was astonishing how his little hoard grew. 

That winter held the first hours of real happiness in 
Freckles’ life. He was free. He was doing a man’s work 
faithfully, through every rigour of rain, snow, and blizzard. 
He was gathering a wonderful strength of body, paying his 
way, and saving money. Every man of the gang and of 
that locality knew that he was under the protection of 
McLean, who was a power; this had the effect of smoothing 
Freckles’ path in many directions. 

Mrs. Duncan showed him that individual kindness for 


FRECKLES 


H 

which his hungry heart was longing. She had a hot drink 
ready for him when he came from a freezing day on the 
trail. She knit him a heavy mitten for his left hand, and 
devised a way to sew and pad the right sleeve that pro- 
tected the maimed arm in bitter weather. She patched 
his clothing — frequently torn by the wire — and saved 
kitchen-scraps for his birds, not because she either knew 
or cared anything about them, but because she herself was 
close enough to the swamp to be touched by its utter lone-' 
liness. When Duncan laughed at her for this, she re* 
torted: “My God, mannie, if Freckles hadna the birds 
and the beasts he would be always alone. It was never 
meant for a human being to be so solitary. He’d get 
touched in the head if he hadna them to think for and to 
talk to ” 

“How much answer do ye think he gets to his talkin’, 
!ass?” laughed Duncan. 

“He gets the answer that keeps the eye bricht, the heart 
happy, and the feet walking faithful the rough path he’s 
set them in,” answered Mrs. Duncan earnestly. 

Duncan walked away appearing very thoughtful. The 
next morning he gave an ear from the corn he was shelling 
for his chickens to Freckles, and told him to carry it to his 
wild chickens in the Limberlost. Freckles laughed de- 
lightedly. 

“Me chickens!” he said. “Why didn’t I ever think of 
that before? Of course they are! They are just little* 
brightly coloured cocks and hens! But 'wild’ is no good. 
What would you say to me 'wild chickens’ being a good 
deal tamer than yours here in your yard ? ” 




PROVES HIS METTLE 

**Hoot, lad!’’ cried Duncan, 

“Make yours light on your head and eat out of your 
hands and pockets,” challenged Freckles. 

“ Go and tell your fairy tales to the wee people ! They’re 
juist brash on believin’ things,” said Duncan, “Ye canna 
invent any story too big to stop them from callin’ for a 
bigger.” 

“I dare you to come see!” retorted Freckles. 

“Take ye!” said Duncan. “If ye make juist ane bird 
licht on your heid or eat frae your hand, ye are free to help 
yoursel’ to my corn-crib and wheat-bin the rest of the 
winter.” 

Freckles sprang in air and howled in glee. 

“Oh, Duncan! You’re too aisy,” he cried. “When 
will you come?” 

“I’ll come next Sabbath,” said Duncan. “And I’ll be- 
lieve the birds of the Limberlost are tame as barnyard- 
fowl when I see it, and no sooner!” 

After that Freckles always spoke of the birds as his 
chickens, and the Duncans followed his example. The 
very next Sabbath, Duncan, with his wife and children, 
followed Freckles to the swamp. They saw a sight so 
wonderful it will keep them talking all the remainder of 
their lives, and make them unfailing friends of all the birds. 

Freckles’ chickens were awaiting him at the edge of the 
clearing. They cut the frosty air around his head into 
curves and circles of crimson, blue, and black. They 
chased each other from Freckles, and swept so closely 
themselves that they brushed him with their outspreac 
wings. 


26 


FRECKLES 


At their feeding-ground Freckles set down his old pail of 
scraps and swept the snow from a small level space with a 
broom improvised of twigs. As soon as his back was 
turned, the birds clustered over the food, snatching scraps 
to carry to the nearest bushes. Several of the boldest, a 
big crow and a couple of jays, settled on the rim and 
feasted at leisure, while a cardinal, that hesitated to ven- 
ture, fumed and scolded from a twig overhead. 

Then Freckles scattered his store. At once the ground 
resembled the spread mantle of Montezuma, except that 
this mass of gaily coloured feathers was on the backs of 
living birds. While they feasted, Duncan gripped his 
wife’s arm and stared in astonishment; for from the bushes 
and dry grass, with gentle cheeping and queer, throaty 
chatter, as if to encourage each other, came flocks of quail. 
Before any one saw it arrive, a big gray rabbit sat in the 
midst of the feast, contentedly gnawing a cabbage-leaf. 

“Weel, I be drawed on!” came Mrs. Duncan’s tense 
whisper. 

“Shu-shu,” cautioned Duncan. 

Lastly Freckles removed his cap. He began filling it 
with handfuls of wheat from his pockets. In a swarm the 
grain-eaters arose around him as a flock of tame pigeons. 
They perched on his arms and the cap, and in the stress of 
hunger, forgetting all caution, a brilliant cock cardinal and 
an equally gaudy jay fought for a perching-place on his 
head. 

“Weel, I’m beat,” muttered Duncan, forgetting the 
silence imposed on his wife. “I’ll hae to give in. ‘Seein 6 
is believin’.’ A man wad hae to see that to believe it 


( 



“ Freckles ’ chickens were awaiting him at the edge of' 

the clearing ” 
















PROVES HIS METTLE 


27 

We mauna let the Boss miss that sight, for it’s a chance 
will no likely come twice in a life. Everything is snowed 
under and thae craturs near starved, but trustin’ Frec- 
kles that complete they are tamer than our chickens. 
Look hard, bairns!” he whispered. “Ye winna see the 
like o’ yon again, while God lets ye live. Notice their 
colour against the ice and snow, and the pretty skippin 
ways of them! And spunky! Weel, I’m beat fair!” 

Freckles emptied his cap, turned his pockets and scat 
tered his last grain. Then he waved his watching friends 
good-bye and started down the timber-line. 

A week later, Duncan and Freckles arose from break- 
fast to face the bitterest morning of the winter. When 
Freckles, warmly capped and gloved, stepped to the corner 
of the kitchen for his scrap-pail, he found a big pan of 
steaming boiled wheat on the top of it. He wheeled to 
Mrs. Duncan with a shining face. 

“Were you dxing this warm food for me chickens or 
yours?” he asked. 

“ It’s for yours, Freckles,” she said. “ I was afeared this 
cold weather they wadna lay good without a warm bite 
now and then.” 

Duncan laughed as he stepped to the other room for his 
pipe; but Freckles faced Mrs. Duncan with a trace of 
every pang of starved mother-hunger he ever had suffered 
written large on his homely, splotched, narrow features. 

“Oh, how I wish you were my mother!” he cried. 

Mrs. Duncan attempted an echo of her husband’s 
laugh. 

“Lord love the lad!” she exclaimed. “Why, Frecklesg 


28 


FRECKLES 


are ye no bricht enough to learn without being taught by a 
woman that I am your mither? If a great man like your- 
sel’ dinna ken that, learn it now and ne’er forget it. Ance 
a woman is the wife of any man, she becomes wife to all 
men for having had the wifely experience she kens! Ance 
a man-child has beaten his way to life under the heart of a| 
woman, she is mither to all men, for the hearts of mithers 
are everywhere the same. Bless ye, laddie, I am your 
mither!” 

She tucked the coarse scarf she had knit for him closer 
over his chest and pulled his cap lower over his ears, but 
Freckles, whipping it off and holding it under his arm, 
caught her rough, reddened hand and pressed it to his lips 
in a long kiss. Then he hurried away to hide the happy, 
embarrassing tears that were coming straight from his 
swelling heart. 

Mrs. Duncan, sobbing unrestrainedly, swept into the 
adjoining room and threw herself into Duncan’s arms. 

“Oh, the puir lad!” she wailed. “Oh, the puir mither- 
hungry lad! He breaks my heart!” 

Duncan’s arms closed convulsively around his wife.. 
With a big, brown hand he lovingly stroked her rough, 
sorrel hair. 

“Sarah, you’re a guid woman!” he said. “You’re a 
michty guid woman! Ye hae a way o’ speakin’ out at 
times that’s like the inspired prophets of the Lord. If 
that had been put to me, now, I’d ’a’ felt all I kent how to 
and been keen enough to say the richt thing; but dang it. 
I’d ’a’ stuttered and stammered and got naething out that 
would ha’ done onybody a mite o’ good. But ye, Sarah? 


PROVES HIS METTLE 


29 

Did ye see his face, woman? Ye sent him off lookin' leke 
a white light of holiness had passed ower and settled on 
him. Ye sent the lad away too happy for mortal words, 
Sarah. And ye made me that proud o’ ye! I wouldna 
trade ye an' my share o' the Limberlost with ony king ye 
could mention." 

He relaxed his clasp, and setting a heavy hand on each 
shoulder, he looked straight into her eyes. 

“ Ye're prime, Sarah! Juist prime!" he said. 

Sarah Duncan stood alone in the middle of her two- 
roomed log-cabin and lifted a bony, claw-like pair of hands, 
reddened by frequent immersion in hot water, cracked and 
chafed by exposure to cold, black-lined by constant battle 
with swamp-loam, calloused with burns, and stared at 
them wonderingly. 

“ Pretty lookin' things ye are!" she whispered. “But 
ye hae juist been kissed. And by such a man! Fine as 
God ever made at His verra best. Duncan wouldna trade 
wi' a king! Na! Nor I wadna trade with a queen wi' a 
palace, an' velvet gowns, an’ diamonds big as hazel-nuts, 
an’ a hundred visitors a day into the bargain. Ye've been 
that honoured I'm blest if I can bear to souse ye in dish- 
water. Still, that kiss winna come off! Naething can 
take it from me, for it’s mine till I dee. Lord, if I amna 
proud! Kisses on these old claws! Weel, I be drawed 
on!" 


CHAPTER III 


Wherein a Feather Falls and a Soul Is Born 











•I t 












































* 










CHAPTER III 

Wherein a Feather Falls and a Soul Is Born 

S O FRECKLES fared through the bitter winter. 
He was very happy. He had hungered for free- 
dom, love, and appreciation so long! He had been 
unspeakably lonely at the Home; and the utter loneliness 
of a great desert or forest is not so difficult to endure as the 
loneliness of being constantly surrounded by crowds of 
people who do not care in the least whether one is living or 
dead. 

All through the winter Freckles’ entire energy was 
given to keeping up his lines and his “ chickens” from 
freezing or starving. When the first breath of spring 
touched the Limberlost, and the snow receded before it; 
when the catkins began to bloom; when there came a hint 
of green to the trees, bushes, and swale; when the rushes 
lifted their heads, and the pulse of the newly resurrected 
season beat strongly in the heart of nature, something new 
stirred in the breast of the boy. 

Nature always levies her tribute. Now she laid a 
powerful hand on the soul of Freckles, to which the boy’s 
whole being responded, though he had not the least idea 
what was troubling him. Duncan accepted his wife’s 
theory that it was a touch of spring fever, but Freckles 
knew better. He never had been so well. Clean, hot. 


33 


FRECKLES 


34 

and steady the blood pulsed in his veins. He was always 
hungry, and his most difficult work tired him not at all. 
For long months, without a single intermission, he had 
tramped those seven miles of trail twice each day, through 
every conceivable state of weather. With the heavy club 
he gave his wires a sure test, and between sections, first in 
play, afterward to keep his circulation going, he had ac- 
quired the skill of an expert drum-major. In his work 
there was exercise for eVery muscle of his body each hour 
of the day, at night a bath, wholesome food, and sound 
sleep in a room that never knew fire. He had gained 
flesh and colour, and developed a greater strength and 
endurance than any one ever could have guessed. 

Nor did the Limberlost contain last year’j terrors. He 
had been with her in her hour of desolation, when stripped 
bare and deserted, she had stood shivering, as if herself 
afraid. He had made excursions into the interior until he 
was familiar with every path and road that ever had been 
cut. He had sounded the depths of her deepest pools, and 
had learned why the trees grew so magnificently. He had 
found that places of swamp and swale were few compared 
with miles of solid timber-land, concealed by summer’s 
luxuriant undergrowth. 

The sounds that at first had struck cold fear into his 
soul he now knew had left on wing and silent foot at the 
approach of winter. As flock after flock of the birds re- 
turned and he recognized the old echoes reawakening, he 
found to his surprise that he had been lonely for them and 
was hailing their return with great joy. All his fears were 
forgotten. Instead, he was possessed of an overpowering 


A FEATHER FALLS 


35 

desire to know what they were, to learn where they had 
been, and whether they would make friends with him as 
the winter birds had done; and if they did, would they be 
as fickle? For, with the running sap, creeping worm, and 
winging bug, most of Freckles’ “ chickens” had deserted 
him, entered the swamp, and feasted to such a state of 
plethora on its store that they cared little for his supply, 
so that in the strenuous days of mating and nest-building 
the boy was deserted. 

He chafed at the birds’ ingratitude, but he found speedy 
consolation in watching and befriending the new-comers. 
He surely would have been proud and highly pleased if he 
had known that many of the former inhabitants of the in- 
terior swamp now grouped their nests beside the timber- 
line solely for the sake of his protection and company. 

The yearly resurrection of the Limberlost is a mighty 
revival. Freckles stood back and watched with awe and 
envy the gradual reclothing and repopulation of the 
swamp. Keen-eyed and alert through danger and lone- 
liness, he noted every stage of development, from the first 
piping frog and unsheathing bud, to full leafage and the 
return of the last migrant. 

The knowledge of his complete loneliness and utter in- 
significance was hourly thrust upon him. He brooded and 
fretted until he was in a fever; yet he never guessed the 
cause. He was filled with a vast impatience, a longing 
that he scarcely could endure. 

It was June by the zodiac, June by the Limberlost, and 
by every delight of a newly resurrected season it should 
have been June in the hearts of all men. Yet Freckles 


FRECKLES 


36 

scowled darkly as he came down the trail, and the running 
tap, tap that tested the sagging wire and telegraphed word 
of his coming to his furred and feathered friends of the 
swamp, this morning carried the story of his discontent a 
mile ahead of him. 

Freckles’ special pet, a dainty, yellow-coated, black- 
sleeved, cock goldfinch, had remained on the wire for sev- 
eral days past the bravest of all; and Freckles, absorbed 
with the cunning and beauty of the tiny fellow, never 
guessed that he was being duped. For the goldfinch was 
skipping, flirting, and swinging for the express purpose of 
so holding his attention that he would not look up and see 
a small cradle of thistledown and wool perilously near his 
head. In the beginning of brooding, the spunky little 
homesteader had clung heroically to the wire when he w^s 
almost paralyzed with fright. When day after day passed 
and brought only softly whistled repetitions of his call, a 
handful of crumbs on the top of a locust line-post, and 
gently worded coaxings, he grew in confidence. Of late he 
had sung and swung during the passing of Freckles, who, 
not dreaming of the nest and the solemn-eyed little hen so 
close above, thought himself unusually gifted in his powe~ 
to attract the birds. This morning the goldfinch scarcely 
could believe his ears, and clung to the wire until an un- 
usually vicious rap sent him spinning a foot in air, and his 
“ Ptse et” came with a squall of utter panic. 

The wires were ringing with a story the birds could not 
translate, and Freckles was quite as ignorant of the trouble 
as they. 

A peculiar movement beneath a small walnut-tree 


A FEATHER FALLS 


37 

caught his attention. He stopped to investigate. There 
was an unusually large Luna cocoon, and the moth was 
bursting the upper end in its struggles to reach light and 
air. Freckles stood and stared. 

“There's something in there trying to get out," he 
muttered. “Wonder if I could help it? Guess I best not 
be trying. If I hadn't happened along, there wouldn't 
have been any one to do anything, and maybe I'd only be 

hurting it. It's — it's Oh, skaggany! It’s just being 

bom!" 

Freckles gasped with surprise. The moth cleared the 
opening, and with many wabblings and contortions 
climbed up the tree. He stared speechless with amaze- 
ment as the moth crept around a limb and clung to the 
under side. There was a big pursy body, almost as large 
as his thumb, and of the very snowiest white that Freckles 
ever had seen. There was a band of delicate lavender 
across its forehead, and its feet were of the same colour; 
there were antlers, like tiny, straw-coloured ferns, on its 
head, and from its shoulders hung the crumpled wet wings„ 
As Freckles gazed, tense with astonishment, he saw that 
these were expanding, drooping, taking on colour, and 
small, oval markings were beginning to show. 

The minutes passed. Freckles' steady gaze never 
wavered. Without realizing it, he was trembling with 
eagerness and anxiety. As he saw what was taking place, 
“It's going to fly,” he breathed in hushed wonder. The 
morning sun fell on the moth and dried its velvet down, 
while the warm air made it fluffy. The rapidly growing 
wings began to show the most delicate green, with lavender 


5 8 FRECKLES 

fore-ribs, transparent, eye-shaped markings, edged with 
lines of red, tan, and black, and long, crisp trailers. 

Freckles was whispering to himself for fear of disturbing 
the moth. It began a systematic exercise of raising and 
lowering its exquisite wings to dry them and to establish 
circulation. The boy realized that soon it would be able 
to spread them and sail away. His long-coming soul sent 
up its first shivering cry. 

“I don’t know what it is! Oh, I wish I knew! How I 
wish I knew! It must be something grand! It can’t be a 
butterfly! It’s away too big. Oh, I wish there was some 
one to tell me what it is!” 

He climbed on the locust post, and balancing himsell 
with the wire, held a finger in the line of the moth’s ad* 
vance up the twig. It unhesitatingly climbed on, so he 
stepped to the path, holding it to the light and examining 
it closely. Then he held it in the shade and turned it, 
gloating over its markings and beautiful colouring. When 
he held the moth to the limb, it climbed on, still waving 
those magnificent wings. 

/‘My, but I’d like to be staying with you!” he said. 
“But if I was to stand here all day you couldn’t grow any 
prettier than you are right now, and I wouldn’t grow 
smart enough to tell what you are. I suppose there’s 
some one who knows. Of course there is! Mr. McLean 
said there were people who knew every leaf, bird, and 
flower in the Limberlost. Oh Lord! How I wish You’d 
be telling me just this one thing!” 

The goldfinch had ventured back to the wire, for there 
was his mate, only a few inches above the man-creature’? 


A FEATHER FALLS 39 

head; and indeed, he simply must not be allowed to look 
up, so the brave little fellow rocked on the wire and piped, 
as he had done every day for a week : “ See me ? See me ? ” 

“See you! Of course I see you,” growled Freckles. “I 
see you day after day, and what good is it doing me? I 
might see you every morning for a year, and then not be 
able to be telling any one about it. ‘Seen a bird with 
black silk wings — little, and yellow as any canary/ That’s 
as far as I’d get. What you doing here, anyway? Have 
you a mate? What’s your name? ‘See you?’ I reckon 
I see you; but I might as well be blind, for any good it’s 
doing me!” 

Freckles impatiently struck the wire. With a screech 
of fear, the goldfinch fled precipitately. His mate arose 
from the nest with a whirr — Freckles looked up and saw it„ 

“O-ho!” he cried. “So that’s what you are doing here! 
You have a wife. And so close my head I have been 
mighty near wearing a bird on my bonnet, and never 
knew it!” 

Freckles laughed at his own jest, while in better humour 
he climbed to examine the neat, tiny cradle and its con- 
tents. The hen darted at him in a frenzy. “Now, where 
do you come in?” he demanded, when he saw that she was 
not similar to the goldfinch. 

“You be clearing out of here! This is none of your fry. 
This is the nest of me little, yellow friend of the wire, and 
you shan’t be touching it. Don’t blame you for wanting 
to see, though. My, but it’s a fine nest and beauties of 
eggs. Will you be keeping away, or will I fire this stick at 
you?” 


40 


FRECKLES 


Freckles dropped to the trail. The hen darted to the 
nest and settled on it with a tender, coddling movement. 
He of the yellow coat flew to the edge to make sure that 
everything was right. It would have been plain to the 
veriest novice that they were partners in that cradle. 

“Well, I’ll be switched !” muttered Freckles. “If that 
ain’t both their nest! And he’s yellow and she’s green, 
or she’s yellow and he’s green. Of course, I don’t know, 
and I haven’t any way to find out, but it’s plain as the nose 
on your face that they are both ready to be fighting for that 
nest, so, of course, they belong. Doesn’t that beat you? 
Say, that’s what’s been sticking me all of this week on that 
grass-nest in the thorn-tree down the line. One day a 
blue bird is setting, so I think it is hers. The next day a 
brown bird is on, and I chase it off because the nest is 
blue’s. Next day the brown bird is on again, and I let 
her be, because I think it must be hers. Next day, be 
golly, blue*S on, and off I send her because it’s brown’s; and 
now, I bet my hat, it’s both their nest, and I’ve only been 
bothering them and making a big fool of mesilf. Pretty 
specimen I am, pretending to be a friend to the birds, and 
so blamed ignorant I don’t know which ones go in pairs, and 
blue and brown are a pair, of course, if yellow and green 
are — and there’s the red birds! I never thought of them! 
He’s red and she’s gray — and now I want to be knowing, 
are they all different? Why no! Of course, they ain’t! 
There’s the jays all blue, and the crows all black.” 

The tide of Freckles’ discontent welled until he almost 
choked t#fch anger and chagrin. He plodded down the 
trail, scowling blackly and viciously spanging the wire. 


A FEATHER FALLS 


4i 

At the finches’ nest he left the line and peered into the 
thorn-tree. There was no bird brooding. He pressed 
closer to take a peep at the snowy, spotless little eggs he 
ha^ found so beautiful, when at the slight noise up raised 
fom tiny baby heads with wide-open mouths, uttering 
hunger cries. Freckles stepped back. The brown bird 
alighted on the edge and closed one cavity with a wiggling 
green worm, while not two minutes later the blue filled 
another with a white. That settled it. The blue and 
brown were mates. Once again Freckles repeated his: 
‘‘How I wish I knew!” 

Around the bridge spanning Sleepy Snake Creek the 
swale spread widely, the timber was scattering, and wil« 
lows, rushes, marsh-grass, and splendid wild flowers grew 
abundantly. Here lazy, big, black water-snakes, for 
which the creek was named, sunned on the bushes, wild 
ducks and grebe chattered, cranes and herons fished, and 
muskrats ploughed the bank in queer, rolling furrows. It 
was always a place full of interest, so Freckles loved to 
linger on the bridge, watching the marsh and water people. 
He also transacted affairs of importance with the wild 
flowers and sweet marsh-grass. He enjoyed splashing 
through the shallow pools on either side of the bridge. 

Then, too, where the creek entered the swamp was a 
place of unusual beauty. The water spread in darksome, 
mossy, green pools. Water-plants and lilies grew luxuri- 
antly, throwing up large, rank, green leaves. Nowhere 
else in the Limberlost could be found frog-music to equal 
that of the mouth of the creek. The drumming and piping 
rolled in never-ending orchestral effect, while the full 


FRECKLES 


42 

chorus rang to its accompaniment throughout the sea* 
son. 

Freckles slowly followed the path leading from the 
bridge to the line. It was the one spot at which he might 
relax his vigilance. The boldest timber thief the swamp 
ever had known would not have attempted to enter it by 
the mouth of the creek, on account of the water and be- 
cause there was no protection from surrounding trees. He 
was bending the rank grass with his cudgel, and thinking 
of the shade the denser swamp afforded, when he suddenly 
dodged sidewise; the cudgel whistled sharply through the 
air and Freckles sprang back. 

From the clear sky above him, first level with his face, 
then skimming, dipping, tilting, whirling until it struck, 
quill down, in the path in front of him, came a glossy, 
iridescent, big black feather. As it touched the ground, 
Freckles snatched it up with almost a continuous move- 
ment facing the sky. There was not a tree of any size in a 
large open space. There was no wind to carry it. From 
the clear sky it had fallen, and Freckles, gazing eagerly 
into the arch of June blue with a few lazy clouds floating 
high in the sea of ether, had neither mind nor knowledge to 
dream of a bird hanging as if frozen there. He turned the 
big quill questioningly, and again his awed eyes swept the 
sky. 

“A feather dropped from Heaven !” he breathed rever- 
ently. “Are the holy angels moulting? But no; if they 
were, it would be white. Maybe all the angels are not 
for being white. What if the angels of God are white and 
those of the devil are black? But a black one has no 

*9 


A FEATHER FALLS 


43 


business up there. Maybe some poor black angel is so 
tired of being punished it’s for slipping to the gates, 
beating its wings trying to make the Master hear! ,, 

Again and again Freckles searched the sky, but there 
was no answering gleam of golden gates, no form of sailing 
bird; then he went slowly on his way, turning the feather 
and wondering about it. It was a wing quill, eighteen 
inches in length, with a heavy spine, gray at the base, 
shading to jet black at the tip, and it caught the play of 
the sun’s rays in slanting gleams of green and bronze. 
Again Freckles’ “old man of the sea” sat sullen and heavy 
on his shoulders and weighted him down until his step 
lagged and his heart ached. 

“Where did it come from? What is it? Oh, how I 
wish I knew!” he kept repeating as he turned and studied 
the feather, with almost unseeing eyes, so intently was he 
thinking. 

Before him spread a large, green pool, filled with rotting 
logs and leaves, bordered with delicate ferns and grasses 
among which lifted the creamy spikes of the arrow-head, 
the blue of water-hyacinth, and the delicate yellow of the 
jewel-flower. As Freckles leaned, handling the feather 
and staring at it, then into the depths of the pool, he once 
more gave voice to his old query: “I wonder what it is!” 

Straight across from him, couched in the mosses of a 
soggy old log, a big green bullfrog, with palpitant throat 
and batting eyes, lifted his head and bellowed in answer: 
“ Fin dout ! Fin 9 dout ! ” 

“Wha — what’s that?” stammered Freckles, almo6t"too 
much bewildered to speak. “I — I know you are only a 


FRECKLES 


44 


bullfrog, but, be jabbers, that sounded mightily like 
speech. Wouldn’t you please to be saying it over?” 

The bullfrog cuddled contentedly in the ooze. Then 
suddenly he lifted his voice, and, as an imperative drum- 
beat, rolled it again: “ Fin dout! Fin doul! Find out ! 99 

Freckles had the answer. Something seemed to snap in 
his brain. There was a wavering flame before his eyes. 
Then his mind cleared. His head lifted in a new poise, 
his shoulders squared, while his spine straightened. The 
agony was over. His soul floated free. Freckles came 
into his birthright. 

“ Before God, I will!” He uttered the oath so im- 
pressively that the recording angel never winced as he 
posted it in the prayer column. 

Freckles set his hat over the top of one of the locust 
posts used between trees to hold up the wire while he 
fastened the feather securely in the band. Then he 
started down the line, talking to himself as men who have 
worked long alone always fall into the habit of doing. 

“What a fool I have been!” he muttered. “Of course 
that’s what I have to do! There wouldn’t likely anybody 
be doing it for me. Of course I can! What am I a man 
for? If I was a tour-footed thing of the swamp, maybe I 
couldn’t; but a man can do anything if he’s the grit to 
work hard enough and stick at it, Mr. McLean is always 
saying, and here’s the way I am to do it. He said, too, 
that there were people that knew everything in the swamp. 
Of course they have written books! The thing for me to 
be doing is to quit moping and be buying some. Never 
bought a book in me life, or anything else of much account. 


A FEATHER FALLS 


45 

for that matter. Oh, ain’t I glad I didn’t waste me money! 
HI surely be having enough to get a few. Let me see/ 

Freckles sat on a log, took his pencil and account-book, 
and figured on a back page. He had walked the timber- 
line ten months. His pay was thirty dollars a month, and 
his board cost him eight. That left twenty-two dollars a 
month, and his clothing had cost him very little. At the 
least he had two hundred dollars in the bank. He drew a 
deep breath and smiled at the sky with satisfaction. 

‘‘I’ll be having a book about all the birds, trees, flowers, 

butterflies, and Yes, by gammy! I’ll be having one 

about the frogs — if it takes every cent I have,” he prom- 
ised himself. 

He put away the account-book, that was his most 
cherished possession, caught up his stick, and started down 
the line. The even tap, tap, and the cheery, gladsome 
whistle carried far ahead of him the message that Freckles 
was himself again. 

He fell into a rapid pace, for he had lost time that morn- 
ing, when he rounded the last curve he was almost run- 
ning. There was a chance that the Boss might be there 
for his weekly report. 

>]Then, wavering, flickering, darting here and there over 
the sweet marsh-grass, came a large black shadow, sweep- 
ing so closely before him that for the second time that 
morning Freckles dodged and sprang back. He had seen 
some owls and hawks of the swamp that he thought might 
be classed as large birds, but never anything like this, for 
six feet it spread its big, shining wings. Its strong feet 
could be seen drawn among its feathers. The sun glinted 


4 6 


FRECKLES 


on its sharp, hooked beak. Its eyes glowed, caught the 
light, and seemed able to pierce the ground at his feet. It 
cared no more for Freckles than if he had not been there; 
for it perched on a low tree, while a second later it awk- 
wardly hopped to the trunk of a lightning-riven elm, 
turned its back, and began searching the blue. 

Freckles looked just in time to see a second shadow 
sweep the grass; and another bird, a trifle smaller and not 
quite so brilliant in the light, slowly sailed down to perch 
beside the first. Evidently they were mates, for with a 
quter, rolling hop the first-comer shivered his bronze 
wings, sidled to the new arrival, and gave her a silly little 
peck on her wing. Then he coquettishly drew away and 
ogled her. He lifted his head, waddled from her a few 
steps, awkwardly ambled back, and gave her such a simple 
sort of kiss on her beak that Freckles burst into a laugh, 
but clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle the sound. 

The lover ducked and side-stepped a few feet. He 
Spread his wings and slowly and softly waved them pre- 
cisely as if he were fanning his charmer, which was indeed 
the result he accomplished. Then a wave of uncontrol- 
lable tenderness moved him so he hobbled to his bombard- 
ment once more. He faced her squarely this time, and 
turned his head from side to side with queer little jerks 
and indiscriminate peckings at her wings and head, and 
smirkings that really should have been irresistible. She 
yawned and shuffled away indifferently. Freckles reached 
up, pulled the quill from his hat, and looking from it to the 
birds, nodded in settled conviction. 

“So you’re me black angels, ye spalpeens! No wonder 


A FEATHER FALLS 


47 

you didn’t get in ! But I’ll back you to come closer it than 
any other birds ever did. You fly higher than I can see. 
Have you picked the Limberlost for a good thing and some 
to try it? Well, you can be me chickens if you want to, 
but I’m blest if you ain’t cool for new ones. Why don’t 
you take this stick for a gun and go skinning a mile?” 

Freckles broke into an unrestrained laugh, for the bird- 
lover was keen about his courting, while evidently his 
mate was diffident. When he approached too boister- 
ously, she relieved him of a goodly tuft of feathers and 
sent him backward in a series of squirmy little jumps that 
gave the boy an idea of what had happened up-sky to send 
the falling feather across his pathway. 

“ Score one for the lady! I’ll be umpiring this,” volun- 
teered Freckles. 

With a ravishing swaggeL', half-lifted wings, and deep, 
guttural hissing, the lover approached again. He sud- 
denly lifted his body, but she coolly rocked forward on the 
limb, glided gracefully beneath him, and slowly sailed into 
the Limberlost. He recovered himself and gazed after her 
in astonishment. 

Freckles hurried down the trail, shaking with laughter. 
When he neared the path to the clearing and saw the Boss 
sitting motionless on the mare that was the pride of his 
heart, the boy broke into a run. 

“Oh, Mr. McLean!” he cried. “I hope I haven’t kept 
you waiting very long! And the sun is getting hot! I 
have been so slow this morning! I could have gone faster, 
only there were that many things to keep me, and I didn’t 
know you would be here. I’ll hurry after this. IV* never 


FRECKLES 


48 

had to be giving excuses before. The line wasn’t down, 
and there wasn’t a sign of trouble; it was other things that 
were making me late.” 

McLean, smiling on the boy, immediately noticed the 
difference in him. This flushed, panting, talkative lad 
was not the same creature who had sought him in despair 
and bitterness. He watched in wonder as Freckles mopped 
the perspiration from his forehead and began to laugh* 
Then, forgetting all his customary reserve with the Boss, 
the pent-up boyishness in the lad broke forth. With an 
eloquence of which he never dreamed he told his story. He 
talked with such enthusiasm that McLean never took his 
eyes from his face or shifted in the saddle until he described 
the strange bird-lover, and then the Boss suddenly bent 
over the pommel and laughed with the boy. 

Freckles decorated his story with keen appreciation and 
rare touches of Irish wit and drollery that made it most in- 
teresting as well as very funny. It was a first attempt at 
descriptive narration. With an inborn gift for striking the 
vital point, a naturalist’s dawning enthusiasm for the 
wonders of the Limberlost, and the welling joy of his 
newly found happiness, he made McLean see the struggles 
of the moth and its freshly painted wings, the dainty, 
brilliant bird-mates of different colours, the feather sliding 
through the clear air, the palpitant throat and batting 
eyes of the frog; while his version of the big bird’s court- ; 
ship won for the Boss the best laugh he had enjoyed for 
years. 

“They’re in the middle of the swamp now,” said 
Freckles. “Do you suppose there is any chance of them 


A FEATHER FALLS 


49 

staying with me chickens ? If they do, they’ll be about the 
queerest I have; but I tell you, sir, I am finding some plum 
good ones. There’s a new kind over at the mouth of the 
creek that uses its wings like feet and walks on all fours. 
It travels like a thrashing machine. There’s another, tall 
as me waist, with a bill a foot long, a neck near two, not the 
thickness of me wrist and an elegant colour. He’s some 
blue and gray, touched up with black, white, and brown* 
The voice of him is such that if he’d be going up and stand- 
ing beside a tree and crying at it a few times he could be 
sawing it square off. I don’t know but it would be a good 
idea to try him on the gang, sir.” 

McLean laughed. “Those must be blue herons. 
Freckles,” he said. “And it doesn’t seem possible, but 
your description of the big black birds sounds like genuine 
black vultures. They are common enough in the South. 
I’ve seen them numerous around the lumber-camps of 
Georgia, but I never before heard of any this far northc 
They must be strays. You have described perfectly our 
nearest equivalent to a branch of these birds called in 
Europe Pharaoh’s chickens, but if they are coming to the 
Limberlost they will have to drop Pharaoh and become 
Freckles’ chickens, like the remainder of the birds; won’t 
they? Or are they too odd and ugly to interest you?” 

“Oh, not at all, at all!” cried Freckles, bursting into 
pure brogue in his haste. “I don’t know as I’d be calling 
them exactly pretty, and they do move like a rocking- 
horse loping, but they are so big and fearless. They have 
a fine colour for black birds, and their feet and beaks seem 
$o strong. You never £aw anything so keen as their eyes{ 


FRECKLES 


S° 

And fly? Why, just think, sir, they must be flying miles 
straight up, for they were out of sight completely when the 
feather fell. I don’t suppose I’ve a chicken in the swamp 
that can go as close heaven as those big, black fellows, and 
then ” 

Freckles’ voice dragged and he hesitated. 

“Then what?” interestedly urged McLean. 

“Fie was loving her so,” answered Freckles in a hushed 
voice. “I know it looked awful funny, and I laughed and 
told on him, but if I’d taken time to think I don’t believe 
I’d have done it. You see, I’ve seen such a little bit of 
loving in me life. You easily can be understanding that 
at the Home it was every day the old story of neglect and 
desertion. Always people that didn’t even care enough 
for their children to keep them, so you see, sir, I had to like 
fiim for trying so hard to make her know how he loved her. 
Df course, they’re only birds, but if they are caring for each 
other like that, why, it’s just the same as people, ain’t it?” 

Freckles lifted his brave, steady eyes to the Boss. 

“If anybody loved me like that, Mr. McLean, I wouldn’t 
be spending any time on how they looked or moved. All 
I’d be thinking of would be how they felt toward me. If 
they will stay, I’ll be caring as much for them as any 
chickens I have. If I did laugh at them I thought he was 
just fine!” 

The face of McLean was a study; but the honest eyes of 
the boy were so compelling that he found himself answer- 
ing: “You are right, Freckles. He’s a gentleman, isn’t he? 
And the only real chicken you have. Of course he’ll re- 
main! The Limberlost will be paradise for his family. 


A FEATHER FALLS 


5 * 

And now, Freckles, what has been the trouble all spring? 
You have done your work as faithfully as any one could 
ask, but I can’t help seeing that there is something wrong c 
Are you tired of your job ? ” 

“I love it,” answered Freckles. “It will almost break 
me heart when the gang comes and begins tearing up the 
swamp and scaring away me chickens.” 

“Then what is the trouble?” insisted McLean. 

“I think, sir, it’s been books,” answered Freckles. “Yoe 
see, I didn’t realize it meself until the bullfrog told me this 
morning. I hadn’t ever even heard about a place like this c 
Anyway, I wasn’t understanding how it would be, if I hado 
Being among these beautiful things every day, I got sc 
anxious like to be knowing and naming them, that it got 
to eating into me and went and made me near sick, when I 
was well as I could be. Of course, I learned to read, write* 
and figure some at school, but there was nothing there, or 
in any of the city that I ever got to see, that would make a 
fellow even be dreaming of such interesting things as there 
are here. I’ve seen the parks — but good Lord, they ain’t 
even beginning to be in it with the Limberlost! It’s all 
new and strange to me. I don’t know a thing about any 
of it. The bullfrog told me to ‘ find out? plain as day, and 
books are the only way; ain’t they?” 

“Of course,” said McLean, astonished at himself for his 
heartfelt relief. He had not guessed until that minute 
what it would have meant to him to have Freckles give up. 
“You know enough to study out what you want vourself, 
if you have the books; don’t you?” 

“I am pretty sure I do,” said Freckles. “I learned a*! 


FRECKLES 


52 

Fd the chance at In the Home, and me schooling was good 
as far as it went. Wouldn’t let you go past fourteen, you 
know. I always did me sums perfect, and loved me 
history-books. I had them almost by heart. I never 
could get me grammar to suit them. They said it was just 
born in me to go wrong talking, and if it hadn’t been I sup- 
pose I would have picked it up from the other children; 
but I’d the best voice of any of them in the Home or at 
school. I could knock them all out singing. I was always 
leader in the Home, and once one of the superintendents 
^ave me car-fare and let me go into the city and sing in a 
boys’ choir. The master said I’d the swatest voice of them 
all until it got rough like, and then he made me quit for 
awhile, but he said it would "be coming back by now, and 
I’m railly thinking it is, sir, for I’ve tried on the line a bit 
of late and it seems to go smooth again and lots stronger. ! 
That and me chickens have been all the company I’ve 
been having, and it will be all I’ll want if I can have 
some books and learn the real names of things, where they * 
come from, and why they do such interesting things. It’s 
been fretting me more than I knew to be shut up here i 
among all these wonders and not knowing a thing. I 
wanted to ask you what some books would cost me, and if 1 
you’d be having the goodness to get me the right ones. I 
think I have enough money.” 

Freckles offered his account-book and the Boss studied 
It gravely. 

“You needn’t touch your account, Freckles,” he said. 
**Ten dollars from this month’s pay will provide you every- ! 
thing you need to start on. I will write a friend in Grand 1 


A FEATHER FALLS 


53 

Rapids to-day to select you the very best and send them at 
once.” 

Freckles’ eyes were shining. 

“Never owned a book in me life!” he said. “Even me 
school-books were never mine. Lord! How I used to 
wish I could have just one of them for me very own! 
Won’t it be fun to see me saw-bird and me little yellow 
fellow looking at me from the pages of a book, and their 
real names and all about them printed alongside? How 
long will it be taking, sir?” 

“Ten days should do it nicely,” said McLean. Then, 
seeing Freckles’ lengthening face, he added: “I’ll have 
Duncan bring you a ten-bushel store-box the next time he 
£oes to town. He can haul it to the west entrance and set 
it up wherever you want it. You can put in your spare 
time filling it with the specimens you find until the books 
come, and then you can study out what you have. I sus* 
pect you could collect specimens that I could send to 
naturalists in the city and sell for you; things like that 
winged creature, this morning. I don’t know much in that 
line, but it must have been a moth, and it might have been 
rare. I’ve seen them by the thousand in museums, and in 
all nature I don’t remember rarer colouring than their 
wings. I’ll order you a butterfly-net and box and show 
you how scientists pin specimens. Possibly you can make 
a fine collection of these swamp beauties. It will be all 
right for you to take a pair of different moths and butter- 
flies, but I don’t want to hear of your killing any birdso 
They are protected by heavy fines,” 

McLean rode awav leaving Freckles staring aghast 0 


FRECKLES 


54 

Then he saw the point and smiled. Standing on the trail, 
he twirled the feather and thought over the morning. 

“Well, if life ain\: getting to be worth living !” he said 
wonderingly. “Biggest streak of luck I ever had! ’Bout 
time something was coming my way, but I wouldn’t ever 
thought anybody could strike such magnificent prospects 
through only a falling feather,” 


CHAPTER IV 


Wherein Freckles Faces Trouble Bravely 
Opens the Way For New Experiences 





CHAPTER IV 


Wherein Freckles Faces Trouble Bravely ani* 
Opens the Way For New Experiences 

N DUNCAN'S return from his next trip to town 



there was a big store-box loaded on the back of his 


wagon. He drove to the west entrance of the 


swamp, set the box on a stump that Freckles had selected 
in a beautiful, sheltered place, and made it secure on its 
foundations with a tree at its back. 

“It seems most a pity to nail into that tree,” said Dun- 
can, “I haena the time to examine into the grain of it, 
but it looks as if it might be a rare ane, Anyhow, the 
nailin' winna hurt it deep, and havin' the case by it will 
make it safer if it is a guid ane.” 

“ Isn’t it an oak?” asked Freckles, 

“Ay,” said Duncan* “It looks like it might be ane of 
thae fine-grained white anes that mak' such grand furni- 


ture. 


When the body of the case was secure, Duncan made a 
door from the lid and fastened it with hinges. He drove 
a staple, screwed on a latch, and gave Freckles a small pad- 
lock — so that he might fasten in his treasures safely. He 
made a shelf at the top for his books, and last of all covered 
the case with oil-cloth. 

It was the first time in Freckles' life that any one ever 


57 


FRECKLES 


S 8 

had done that much for his pleasure, and it warmed his 
heart with pure joy. If the interior of the box already 
had been covered with the rarest treasures of the Limber- 
lost he could have been no happier. 

When the big teamster stood back to look at his work, 
he laughingly quoted, “‘Neat, but no* gaudy,’ as McLean 
says. All we’re needing now is a coat of paint to make a 
cupboard that would turn Sarah green with envy. Ye’ll 
find that safe an’ dry, lad, an’ that’s all that’s needed.” 

“Mr. Duncan,” said Freckles, “I don’t know why you 
are being so mighty good to me; but if you have any jobs 
at the cabin that I could do for you or Mrs. Duncan, hours 
off the line, it would make me mighty happy.” 

Duncan laughed. “Ye needna feel ye are obliged to 
me, lad. Ye mauna think I could take a half-day off in the 
best hauling season and go to town for boxes to rig up, and 
spend of my little for fixtures.” 

“I knew Mr. McLean sent you,” said Freckles, his eyes 
wide and bright with happiness. “It’s so good of him. 
How I wish I could do something that would please him as 
much!” 

“Why, Freckles,” said Duncan, as he knelt and began 
collecting his tools, “I canna s^e that it will hurt ye to be 
told that ye are doing every day a thing that pleases the 
Boss as much as anything ye could do. Ye’re being un- 
common faithful, lad, and honest as old Father Time, 
McLean is trusting ye as he would his own flesh and blood.’* 

“Oh, Duncan!” cried the happy boy. “Are you sure?’* 

“Why I know,” answered Duncan. “I wadna venture 
to say so else. In those first days he cautioned me na to 


FACES TROUBLE BRAVELY 


59 

tell ye, but now he wadna care. D’ye ken, Freckles, that 
some of the single trees ye are guarding are worth a thou- 
sand dollars?” 

Freckles caught his breath and stood speechless. 

“Ye see,” said Duncan, “that’s why they maun be 
watched so closely. They tak’, say, for instance, a burl 
maple — bird’s eye they call it in the factory, because it’s 
full o’ wee knots and twists that look like the eye of a bird. 
They saw it out in sheets no muckle thicker than writin’- 
paper. Then they make up the furniture out of cheaper 
wood and cover it with the maple — veneer, they call it. 
When it’s all done and polished ye never saw onythin* 
grander. Gang into a retail shop the next time ye are in 
town and see some. By sawin’ it thin that way they get fin- 
ish for thousands of dollars’ worth of furniture from a single 
tree. If ye dinna watch faithful, and Black Jack gets out 
a few he has marked, it means the loss of more money than 
ye ever dreamed of, lad. The other night, down at camp, 
some son of Balaam was suggestin’ that ye might be sellin’ 
the Boss out to Jack and lettin’ him tak’ the trees secretly, 
and nobody wad ever ken till the gang gets here.” 

A wave of scarlet flooded Freckles’ face and he blazed 
hotly at the insult. 

“And the Boss,” continued Duncan, coolly ignoring 
Freckles’ anger, “he lays back just as cool as cowcumbers 
an’ says: ‘I’ll give a thousand dollars to ony man that wiM 
show me a fresh stump when we reach the Limberlost,’ 
says he. Some of the men just snapped him up that they’d 
find some. So you see how the Boss is trustin’ ye, lad.” 

“I am gladder than I can ever expriss,” said Freckles, 


6o 


FRECKLES 


JS And now will I be walking double time to keep some of 
them from cutting a tree to get all that money !” 

“Mither o’ Moses!” howled Duncan. “Ye can trust 
the Scotch to bungle things a’thegither. McLean was 
only meanin’ to show ye all confidence and honour. He’s 
gone and set a high price for some dirty whelp to ruin ye. 
I was just tryin’ to show ye how he felt toward ye, 
and I’ve gone an’ give ye that worry to bear. Damn the 
Scotch ! They’re so slow an’ so dumb ! ” 

“Exciptin’ prisint company?” sweetly inquired Freckles. 

“No!” growled Duncan. “Headin’ the list! He’d nae 
business to set a price on ye, lad, for that’s about the 
amount of it, an’ I’d nae right to tell ye. We’ve both done 
ye ill, an’ both meanin’ the verra best. Juist what I’m 
always sayin’ to Sarah.” 

“I am mighty proud of what you have been telling me, 
Duncan,” said Freckles. “I need the warning, sure. For 
with the books coming I might be timpted to neglect me 
work when double watching is needed. Thank you more 
than I can say for putting me on to it. What you’ve told 
me may be the saving of me. I won’t stop for dinner now. 
I’ll be getting along the east line, and when I come around 
about three, maybe Mother Duncan will let me have a 
glass of milk and a bite of something.” 

“Ye see now!” cried Duncan in disgust. “Ye’ll start 
on that seven-mile tramp with na bite to stay your stom- 
ach. What was it I told ye?” 

“You told me that the Scotch had the hardest heads and 
the softest hearts of any people that’s living,” answered 
Freckles. 


FACES TROUBLE BRAVELY 6l 

Duncan grunted in gratified disapproval. 

Freckles picked up his club and started down the line, 
whistling cheerily, for he had an unusually long repertoire 
upon which to draw. 

Duncan went straight to the lower camp, and calling 
McLean aside, repeated the conversation verbatim, end- 
ing: “And nae matter what happens now or ever, dinna ye 
dare let onythin* make ye believe that Freckles hasna 
guarded faithful as ony man could.” 

“I don’t think anything could shake my faith in the 
lad,” answered McLean. 

Freckles was whistling merrily. He kept one eye re- 
ligiously on the line. The other he divided between the 
path, his friends of the wire, and a search of the sky for his 
latest arrivals. Every day since their coming he had seen 
them, either hanging as small, black clouds above the 
«wamp or bobbing over logs and trees with their queer, tilt- 
ing walk. Whenever he could spare time, he entered the 
swamp and tried to make friends with them, for they were 
the tamest of all his unnumbered subjects. They ducked, 
dodged, and ambled around him, over logs and bushes, and 
not even a near approach would drive them to flight. 

For two weeks he had found them circling over the 
Limberlost regularly, but one morning the female was 
missing and only the big black chicken hung sentinel 
above the swamp. His mate did not reappear in the fol- 
lowing days, and Freckles grew very anxious. He spoke 
of it to Mrs. Duncan, and she quieted his fears by raising 
a delightful hope in their stead. 

“Why, Freckles, if it’s the hen-bird ye are missing, it v Q 


62 


FRECKLES 


ten to one she’s safe,” she said. “ She’s laid, and is setting, 
ye silly! Watch him and mark whaur he lichts. Then 
follow and find the nest. Some Sabbath we’ll all gang see 
it.” 

Accepting this theory, Freckles began searching for 
the nest. Because these “ chickens” were large, as the 
hawks, he looked among the tree-tops until he almost 
sprained the back of his neck. He had half the crow and 
hawk nests in the swamp located. He searched for this 
nest instead of collecting subjects for his case. He found 
the pair the middle of one forenoon on the elm where he 
had watched their love-making. The big black chicken 
was feeding his mate; so it was proved that they were 
a pair, they were both alive, and undoubtedly she was 
brooding. After that Freckles’ nest-hunting continued 
with renewed zeal, but as he had no idea where to look 
and Duncan could offer no helpful suggestion, the nest 
was no nearer to being found. 

Coming from a long day on the trail, Freckles saw 
Duncan’s children awaiting him much closer the swale 
than they usually ventured, and from their wild gestures 
he knew that something had happened. He began to 
run, but the cry that reached him was: “The books have 
come ! ” 

How they hurried! Freckles lifted the youngest tc his 
shoulder, the second took his club and dinner-pail, and 
when they reached Mrs. Duncan they found her at work 
on a big box. She had loosened the lid, and then she 
(aughingly sat on it. 

“Ye canna have a peep in here until ye have washed 


FACES TROUBLE BRAVELY 


6j 

and eaten supper,” she said. “It’s all ready on the table 
Ance ye begin on this, ye’ll no be willin’ to tak’ your nose 
o’ it till bedtime, and I willna get my work done the nicht 
We’ve eaten long ago.” 

It was difficult work, but Freckles smiled bravely. He 
made himself neat, swallowed a few bites, then came so eag- 
erly that Mrs. Duncan yielded, although she said she very 
well knew all the time that his supper would be spoiled. 

Lifting the lid, they removed the packing and found in 
that box books on birds, trees, flowers, moths, and butter- 
flies. There was also one containing Freckles’ bullfrog, 
true to life. Besides these were a butterfly-net, a natural- 
ist’s tin specimen-box, a bottle of cyanide, a box of cotton, 
a paper of long, steel specimen-pins, and a letter telling 
what all these things were and how to use them. 

At the discovery of each new treasure, Freckles shouted: 
“Will you be looking at this, now?” 

Mrs. Duncan cried: “Weel, I be drawed on!” 

The eldest boy turned a somersault for every extra, 
while the baby, trying to follow his example, bunched over 
in a sidewnse sprawl and cut his foot on the axe with which 
his mother had prized up the box-lid. That sobered 
them, they carried the books indoors. Mrs. Duncan bad 
a top shelf in her closet cleared for them, far above the 
reach of meddling little fingers. 

When Freckles started for the trail next morning, the 
shining new specimen-box flashed on his back. The 
black “ chicken,” a mere speck in the blue, caught the 
gleam of it. The folded net hung beside the boy’s hatchet, 
and the bird-book was in the box. He walked the line 


FRECKLES 


64 

and tested each section scrupulously, watching every foot 
of the trail, for he was determined not to slight his work; 
but if ever a boy “made haste slowly” in a hurry, it was 
Freckles that morning. When at last he reached the 
space he had cleared and planted around his case, his 
heart swelled with the pride of possessing even so much 
'that he could call his own, while his quick eyes feasted on 
the beauty of it. 

He had made a large room with the door of the case set 
even with one side of it. On three sides, fine big bushes 
of wild-rose climbed to the lower branches of the trees. 
Part of his walls were mallow, part alder, thorn, willow, 
and dogwood. Below there filled in a solid mass of pale 
pink sheep-laurel, and yellow St. John’s wort, while the 
amber threads of the dodder interlaced everywhere. At 
one side the swamp came close, here cat-tails grew in profu- 
sion. In front of them he had planted a row of water-hya- 
cinths without disturbing in the least the state of their 
azure bloom, and where the ground arose higher for his 
floor, a row of foxfire, that soon would be open. 

To the left he had discovered a queer natural arrange- 
ment of the trees, that grew to giant size and were set in a 
gradually narrowing space so that a long, open vista 
stretched away until lost in the dim recesses of the swamp. 
A little trimming of underbush, rolling of dead logs, level- 
ling of floor and carpeting with moss, made it easy to under- 
stand why Freckles had named this the “cathedral”; yet 
he never had been taught that “the groves were God’s 
first temples.” 

On either side of the trees that constituted the first 


FACES TROUBLE BRAVELY 65 

arch of this dim vista of the swamp he planted ferns that 
grew waist-high thus early in the season, and so skilfully 
the work had been done that not a frond drooped because 
of the change. Opposite, he cleared a space and made a 
flower-bed. He filled one end with every delicate, lacy 
vine and fern he could transplant successfully. The body 
of the bed was a riot of colour. Here he set growing 
dainty blue-eyed-Marys and blue-eyed grass side by side. 
He planted harebells; violets, blue, white, and yellow; 
wild geranium, cardinal-flower, columbine, pink snake’s 
mouth, buttercups, painted trilliums, and orchis. Here 
were blood-root, moccasin-flower, hepatica, pitcher-plant, 
Jack-in-the-pulpit, and every other flower of the Limber- 
lost that was in bloom or bore a bud presaging a flower. 
Every day saw the addition of new specimens. The place 
would have driven a botanist wild with envy. 

On the line side he left the bushes thick for concealment, 
entering by a narrow path he and Duncan had cleared in 
setting up the case. He called this the front door, though 
he used every precaution to hide it. He built rustic seats 
between several of the trees, levelled the floor, and thickly 
carpeted it with rank, heavy, woolly-dog moss. Around 
the case he planted w T ild clematis, bitter-sweet, and wild 
grape-vines, and trained them over it until it was almost 
covered. Every day he planted new flowers, cut back 
rough bushes, and coaxed out graceful ones. His pride in 
his room was very great, but he had no idea how surpris- 
ingly beautiful it would appear to any one who had not 
witnessed its growth and construction. 

This morning Freckles walked straight to his case, un- 


66 


FRECKLES 


locked it, and set his apparatus and dinner inside. He 
planted a new specimen he had found close the trail, and, 
bringing his old scrap-bucket from the corner in which i* 
was hidden, from a near-by pool he dipped water to pour 
over his carpet and flowers. 

Then he took out the bird-book, settled comfortably 
on a bench, and with a deep sigh of satisfaction turned to 
the section headed “V.” Past “veery” and “vireo” he 
went, down the line until his finger, trembling with eager- 
ness, stopped at “vulture.” 

“‘Great black California vulture/” he read. 

“Humph! This side the Rockies will do for us.” 

“‘Common turkey-buzzard/” 

“Well, we ain’t hunting common turkeys. McLean 
said chickens, and what he says goes.” 

“‘Black vulture of the South.’” 

“Here we are arrived at once.” 

Freckles’ finger followed the line, and he read scraps 
aloud. 

“‘Common in the South. Sometimes called Jim Crow. 
Nearest equivalent to C-a-t-h-a-r-t-e-s A-t-r-a-t-a.”’ 

“How the divil am I ever to learn them corkin’ big 
words by mesel’ ?” 

“‘ — the Pharaoh’s Chickens of European species* 
Sometimes stray north as far as Virginia and Ken-' 
tucky 

“And sometimes farther,” interpolated Freckles, “’cos 
I got them right here in Indiana so like these pictures I 
can just see me big chicken bobbing up to get his ears 
boxed. Hey?” 


FACES TROUBLE BRAVELY 


67 


“ ‘Light-blue eggs’ ” 

“ Golly ! I got to be seeing them!” 

— big as a common turkey’s, but shaped like a hen’s, 

heavily splotched with chocoiate 

“Caramels, I suppose. And ” 

“‘ — in hollow logs or stumps/” 

“Oh, hagginy! Wasn’t I barking up the wrong 
tree, though? Ought to been looking close the ground 
all this time. Now it’s all to do over, and I suspect 
the sooner I start the sooner I’ll be likely to find 
them.” 

Freckles put away his book, dampened the smudge* 
fire, without which the mosquitoes made the swamp almost 
unbearable, took his cudgel and lunch, and went to the 
line. He sat on a log, ate at dinner-time and drank his 
last drop of water. The heat of June was growing intense. 
Even on the west of the swamp, where one had full benefit 
of the breeze from the upland, it was beginning to be un- 
pleasant in the middle of the day. 

He brushed the crumbs from his knees and sat resting 
a while and watching the sky to see if his big chicken were 
hanging up there. But he came to the earth abruptly, 
c or there were steps coming down the trail that were 
neither McLean’s nor Duncan’s — and there never had 
been others. Freckles’ heart leaped hotly 0 He ran a 
quick hand over his belt to feel if his revolver and hatchet 
were there, caught up his cudgel and laid it across his 
knees — then sat quietly, waiting. Was it Black Jack, or 
some one even worse? Forced to do something to brace 
his nerves, he puckered his stiffening lips and began 


68 


FRECKLES 


whistling a tune he had ltd in his clear tenor every year of 
his life at the Home Christmas exercises. 

“Who comes this way, so blithe and gay, 

Upon a merry Christmas day?” 

His quick Irish wit roused to the ridiculousness of it 
until he broke into a laugh that steadied him amazingly. 

Through the bushes he caught a glimpse of the oncom- 
ing figure. His heart flooded with joy, for it was a man 
from the gang. Wessner had been his bunk-mate the 
night he came down the corduroy. He knew him as well 
as any of McLean’s men. This was no timber-thief. No 
doubt the Boss had sent him with a message. Freckles 
sprang up and called cheerily, a warm welcome on his 
face. 

“Well, it’s good telling if you’re glad to see me,” said 
Wessner, with something very like a breath of relief. 
“We been hearing down at the camp you were so mighty 
touchy you didn’t allow a man within a rod of the line.’* 

“No more do I,” answered Freckles, “if he’s a stranger, 
but you’re from McLean, ain’t you?” 

“Oh, damn McLean!” said Wessner. 

Freckles gripped the cudgel until his knuckles slowly 
turned purple. 

“And are you railly saying so?” he inquired with 
elaborate politeness. 

“Yes, I am,” said Wessner. “So would every man of 
the gang if they wasn’t too big cowards to say anything, 
unless maybe that other slobbering old Scotchman, Dun- 
can. Grinding the lives out of us! Working us like dogs. 


FACES TROUBLE BRAVELY 69 

and paying us starvation wages, while he rolls up his mil- 
lions and lives like a prince!” 

Green lights began to play through the gray of Freckles 9 
eyes. 

“Wessner,” he said, impressively, “you’d make a fine 
pattern for the father of liars! Every man on that gang 
is strong and hilthy, paid all he earns, and treated with the 
courtesy of a gentleman! As for the Boss living like a 
prince, he shares fare with you every day of your lives!” 

Wessner was not a born diplomat, but he saw he was on 
the wrong tack, so he tried another. 

“How would you like to make a good big pile of money, 
without even lifting your hand?” he asked. 

“Humph!” said Freckles. “Have you been up to 
Chicago and cornered wheat, and are you offering me a 
friendly tip on the invistment of me fortune ? ” 

Wessner came close. 

“Freckles, old fellow,” he said, “if you let me give you a 
pointer, I can put you on to making a cool five hundred 
without stepping out of your tracks.” 

Freckles drew back. 

“You needn’t be afraid of speaking up,” he said. 
'‘There isn’t a soul in the Limberlost save the birds and 
the beasts, unless some of your sort’s come along and’s 
crowding the privileges of the legal tinints.” 

“None of my friends along,” said Wessner. “Nobody 
knew I came but Black, I — I mean a friend of mine. If 
you want to hear sense and act with reason, he can see you 
later, but it ain’t necessary. We can make all the plans 
needed. The trick’s so dead small and easy.” 


yz 


FRECKLES 


“Must be if you have the engineering of it,” said 
Freckles. But he heard, with a sigh of relief, that they 
were alone. 

Wessner was impervious. “You just bet it is! Why* 
only think, Freckles, slavin’ away at a measly little thirty 
dollars a month, and here is a chance to clear five hundred 
in a day! You surely won’t be the fool to miss it!” 

“And how was you proposing for me to stale it?” in- 
quired Freckles. “Or am I just to find it laying in me 
path beside the line?” 

“That’s it, Freckles,” blustered the Dutchman, “you’re 
just to find it. You needn’t do a thing. You needn’t know 
a thing. You name a morning when you will walk up the 
west side of the swamp and then turn round and walk 
back down the same side again and the money is yours. 
Couldn’t anything be easier than that, could it?” 

“Depiads entirely on the man,” said Freckles. The lilt 
of a lark hanging above the swale beside them was not 
sweeter than the sweetness of his voice. “To some it 
would seem to come aisy as breathing; and to some* 
wringin’ the last drop of their heart’s blood couldn’t force 
thim! I’m not the man that goes into a scheme like that 
with the blindfold over me eyes, for, you see, it manes to 
break trust with the Boss; and I’ve served him faithful as 
I knew. You’ll have to be making the thing very clear to 
me understanding.” 

“It’s so dead easy,” repeated Wessner, “it makes me 
tired of the simpleness of it. You see there’s a few trees 
in the swamp that’s real gold-mines. There’s three 
especial. Two are back in, but one’s square on the line 


FACES TROUBLE BRAVELY 


72 

Why, your pottering old Scotch fool of a Boss nailed the 
wire to it with his own hands! He never noticed where 
the bark had been peeled, or saw what it was. If you will 
stay on this side of the trail just one day we can have it 
cut, loaded, and ready to drive out at night. Next morn- 
ing you can find it, report, and be the busiest man in the 
search for us. We know where to fix it all safe and easy. 
Then McLean has a bet up with a couple of the gang that 
there can’t be a raw stump found in the Limberlost. 
There’s plenty of witnesses to swear to it, and I know three 
that will. There’s a cool thousand, and this tree is worth 
all of that, raw. Say, it’s a gold-mine, I tell you, and just 
five hundred of it is yours. There’s no danger on earth to 
you, for you’ve got McLean that bamboozled you could 
sell out the whole swamp and he’d never mistrust you 
What do you say?” 

Freckles’ soul was satisfied. “Is that all?” he asked, 

“No, it ain’t,” said Wessner. “If you really want tc 
brace up and be a man and go into the thing for keeps, you 
can make five times that in a week. My friend knows a 
dozen others we could get out in a few days, and all you’d 
have to do would be to keep out of sight. Then you could 
take your money and skip some night, and begin life like a 
gentleman somewhere else. What do you think about it ?” 

Freckles purred like a kitten. 

“’Twould be a rare joke on the Boss,” he said, “to be 
stalin’ from him the very thing he’s trusted me to guard* 
and be getting me wages all winter throwed in free. And 
you’re making the pay awful high. Me to be getting five 
hundred for such a simple little thing as that. You’re 


72 FRECKLES 

trating me most royal indade! It’s away beyond all I’d 
be expecting. Sivinteen cints would be a big price for that 
job. It must be looked into thorough. Just you wait 
here until I do a minute’s turn in the swamp, and then I’ll 
be eschorting you out of the clearing and giving you the 
answer.” 

Freckles lifted the overhanging bushes and hurried to 
the case. He unslung the specimen-box and laid it inside 
with his hatchet and revolver. He slipped the key in his 
pocket and went back to Wessner, 

“Now for the answer,” he said. “Stand up!” 

There was iron in his voice, and he was commanding as 
an outraged general. “Anything you want to be taking 
off?” he questioned. 

Wessner looked the astonishment he felt. “Wh>, no, 
Freckles,” he said. 

“Have the goodness to be calling me Mister McLean,” 
snapped Freckles. “I’m after resarvin’ me pet name fox 
the use of me friends! You may stand with your back to 
the light or be taking any advantage you want.” 

“Why, what do you mean?” spluttered Wessner. 

“I’m manin’,” said Freckles tersely, “to lick a quarter* 
section of hell out of you, and may the Holy Vargin stay 
me before I leave you here carrion, for your carcass would 
turn the stummicks of me chickens!” 

At the camp that morning, Wessner’s conduct had been 
so palpable an excuse to force a discharge that Duncan 
moved near McLean and whispered, “Think of the boy, 
sir?” 

McLean was so troubled that, an hour later, he mounted 


FACES TROUBLE BRAVELY 73 

Nellie and followed Wessner to his home in Wildcat Hol- 
low, only to find that he had left there shortly before, 
heading for the Limberlost. McLean rode at top speed. 
When Mrs. Duncan told him that a man answering 
Wessner’s description had gone down the west side of the 
swamp close noon, he left the mare in her charge and fol- 
lowed on foot. When he heard voices he entered the 
swamp and silently crept close just in time to hear Wessner 
whine: “But I can’t fight you, Freckles. I hain’t done 
nothing to you. I’m away bigger than you, and you’ve 
only one hand.” 

The Boss slid off his coat and crouched among the 
bush\s, ready to spring; but as Freckles’ voice reached him 
he held himself, with a strong effort, to learn what mettle 
was in the boy. 

“ Don’t you be wasting of me good time in the number- 
ing of me hands,” cried Freckles. “The >stringth of me 
cause will make up for the weakness of me mimbers, and 
the size of a cowardly thief doesn’t count. You’ll think all 
the wild-cats of the Limberlost are turned loose on you 

whin I come against you, and as for me cause I slept 

with you, Wessner, the night I came down the corduroy 
like a dirty, friendless tramp, and the Boss was for taking 
me up, washing, clothing, and feeding me, and giving me a 
home full of love and tinderness, and a master to look to, 
and good, well-earned money in the bank. He’s trusting 
me his heartful, and here comes you, you spotted toad of 
the big road, and insults me, as is an honest Irish gintle- 
man, by hinting that you concaive I’d be willing to shut 
me eyes and hold fast while you rcb him of the thing I was 


FRECKLES 


74 

set and paid to guard, and then act the sneak and liar to 
him, and ruin and eternally blacken the soul of me. You 
damned rascal, ” raved Freckles, “be fighting before I for- 
get the laws of a gintlemin’s game and split your dirtv 
head with me stick!” 

Wessner backed away, mumbling, “But I don’t want to 
hurt you, Freckles!” 

“Oh, don’t you!” raged the boy, now fairly frothing. 
“Well, you ain’t resembling me none, for I’m itching like 
death to git me fingers in the face of you.” 

He danced up, and as Wessner lunged in self-defense, 
ducked under his arm as a bantam and punched him in the 
pit of the stomach so that he doubled with a groan. Before 
Wessner could straighten himself, Freckles was on him, 
fighting like the wildest fury that ever left the beautiful 
island. The Dutchman dealt thundering blows that some 
times landed and sent Freckles reeling, and sometimes 
missed, while he went plunging into the swale with the 
impetus of them. Freckles could not strike with hall 
Wessner’s force, but he could land three blows to the 
Dutchman’s one. It was here that the boy’s days of alert 
watching on the line, the perpetual swinging of the heavy 
cudgel, and the endurance of all weather stood him in good 
stead; for he was tough, and agile. He skipped, ducked, 
and dodged. For the first five minutes he endured fearful 
punishment. Then Wessner’s breath commenced to 
whistle between his teeth, when Freckles only had begun 
fighting. He sprang back with shrill laughter. 

“Begolly! and will your honour be whistling the horn*- 
pipe for me to be dancing of?” he cried. 


FACES TROUBLE BRAVELY 


75 

Spang ! went his fist into Wessner’s face, and he was past 
him into the swale. 

“And would you be pleased to tune up a little livelier ?” 
he gasped, and clipped his ear as he sprang back. Wessner 
lunged at him in blind fury. Freckles, seeing an opening, 
forgot the laws of a gentleman’s game and drove the toe 
of his heavy wading-boot in Wessner’s middle until he 
doubled and fell heavily. In a flash Freckles was on him. 
For a time McLean could not see what was happening. 
“Go! Go to him now!” he commanded himself, but so in- 
tense was his desire to see the boy win alone that he did not 
stir. 

At last Freckles sprang up and backed away. “Time!” 
he yelled as a fury. “Be getting up, Mr. Wessner, and 
don’t be afraid of hurting me. I’ll let you throw in an 
extra hand and lick you to me complate satisfaction all the 
same. Did you hear me call the limit? Will you get up 
and be facing me?” 

As Wessner struggled to his feet, he resembled a battle- 
field, for his clothing was in ribbons and his face and hands 
streaming blood. 

“I — I guess I got enough,” he mumbled. 

“Oh, you do?” roared Freckles. “Well this ain’t your 
say. You come on to me ground, lying about me Boss 
and intimatin’ I’d stale from his very pockets. Now will 
you be standing up and taking your medicine like a man, 
or getting it poured down the throat of you like a baby? 
I ain’t got enough! This is only just the beginning with 
me. Be looking out there!” 

He sprang against Wessner and sent him rolling. He 


FRECKLES 


76 

attacked the unresisting figure and fought him until he lay 
limp and quiet and Freckles had no strength left to lift an 
arm. Then he arose and stepped back, gasping for breath. 
With his first lungful of air he shouted : “ Time ! ” But the 
figure of Wessner lay motionless. 

Freckles watched him with regardful eye and saw at last 
that he was completely exhausted. He bent over him, and 
catching him by the back of the neck, jerked him to his 
knees. Wessner lifted the face of a whipped cur, and 
fearing further punishment, burst into shivering sobs, 
while the tears washed tiny rivulets through the blood and 
muck. Freckles stepped back, glaring at Wessner, but 
suddenly the scowl of anger and the ugly disfiguring re3 
faded from the boy’s face. He dabbed at a cut on his 
temple from which issued a tiny crimson stream, and 
jauntily shook back his hair. His face took on the inno«* 
cent look of a cherub, and his voice rivalled that of a 
brooding dove, but into his eyes crept a look of diabolical 
mischief. 

He glanced vaguely around him until he saw his club, 
seized and twirled it as a drum-major, stuck it upright in 
the muck, and marched on tiptoe to Wessner, mechani- 
cally, as a puppet worked by a string. Bending over. 
Freckles reached an arm around Wessner’s waist and 
helped him to his feet. 

“Careful, now,” he cautioned; “be careful, Freddy; 
there’s danger of you hurting me.” 

Drawing a handkerchief from a back pocket, Freckles 
tenderly wiped Wessner’s eyes and nose. 

“Come, Freddy, me child,” he admonished Wessner; 


FACES TROUBLE BRAVELY 77 

"it's time little boys were going home. IVe me work to 
do, and can’t be entertaining you any more to-day. Come 
back to-morrow, if you ain’t through yet, and we’ll repate 
the perfarmance. Don’t be staring at me so wild like! I 
would eat you, but I can’t afford it. Me earnings, being 
honest, come slow, and I’ve no money to be squanderin’ on 
the pailful of Dyspeptic’s Delight it would be to taking to 
work you out of my innards!” 

Again an awful wrenching seized McLean. Freckles 
stepped back as Wessner, tottering and reeling, as a 
thoroughly drunken man, came toward the path, appear- 
ing indeed as if wild-cats had attacked him. 

The cudgel spun high in air, and catching it with an ex- 
pertness acquired by long practice on the line, the boy 
twirled it a second, shook back his thick hair bonnily, and 
stepping into the trail, followed Wessner. Because 
Freckles was Irish, it was impossible to do it silently, so 
presently his clear tenor rang out, though there were bad 
catches where he was hard pressed for breath: 

“It was the Dutch. It was the Dutch. 

Do you think it was the Irish hollered help? 

Not much! 

It was the Dutch. It was the Dutch 99 

Wessner turned and mumbled: “What you following 
me for? What are you going to do with me ? ” 

Freckles called the Limberlost to witness: “How’s that 
for the ingratitude of a beast ? And me troubling mesilf to 
fhow him off me territory with the honours of war!” 

Then he changed his tone completely and added: “Be- 


FRECKLES 


78 

like it’s this, Freddy. You see, the Boss might come 
riding down this trail any minute, and the little mare’s so 
wheedlesome that if she’d come on to you in your prisint 
state all of a sudden, she’d stop that short she’d send Mr. 
McLean out over the ears of her. No disparagement in- 
tinded to the sinse of the mare!” he added hastily. 

Wessner belched a fearful oath, while Freckles laughed 
merrily. 

“That’s a sample of the thanks a generous act’s always 
for getting,” he continued. “Here’s me neglictin’ me 
work to eschort you out proper, and you saying such awful 
words. Freddy,” he demanded sternly, “do you want me 
to soap out your mouth? You don’t seem to be realizing 
it, but if you was to buck into Mr. McLean in your prisint 
state, without me there to explain matters the chance is 
he’d cut the liver out of you; and I shouldn’t think you’d 
be wanting such a fine gintleman as him to see that it’s 
white!” 

Wessner grew ghastly under his grime and broke into ** 
staggering run. 

“And now will you be looking at the manners of him?” 
questioned Freckles plaintively. “Going without even a 
‘thank you,’ right in the face of all the pains I’ve taken to 
make it interesting for him!” 

Freckles twirled the club and stood as a soldier at “at- 
tention” until Wessner left the clearing, but it was the 
last scene of that performance. When the boy turned, 
theie was deathly illness on his face, while his legs wavered 
beneath his weight. He staggered to the case, and open- 
ing it he took out a piece of cloth. He dipped it into the 


FACES TROUBLE BRAVELY 


79 

water, and sitting on a bench, he wiped the blood and grime 
from his face, while his breath sucked between his clenched 
teeth. He was shivering with pain and excitement in 
spite of himself. He unbuttoned the band of his right 
sleeve, and turning it back, exposed the blue-lined, cal- 
loused whiteness of his maimed arm, now vividly streaked 
with contusions, while in a series of circular dots the blood 
oozed slowly. Here Wessner had succeeded in setting his 
teeth. When Freckles saw what it was he forgave himself 
the kick in the pit of Wessner’s stomach, and cursed fer- 
vently and deep. 

“Freckles, Freckles,” said McLean’s voice. 

Freckles snatched down his sleeve and arose to his feet. 

“Excuse me, sir,” he said. “You’ll surely be belavin’ 
I thought meself alone.” 

McLean pushed him carefully to the seat, and bending 
over him, opened a pocket-case that he carried as regularly 
as his revolver and watch, for cuts and bruises were of 
daily occurrence among the gang. 

Taking the hurt arm, he turned back the sleeve and 
bathed and bound the wounds. He examined Freckles’ 
head and body and convinced himself that there was no 
permanent injury, although the cruelty of the punishment 
the boy had borne set the Boss shuddering. Then he 
closed the case, shoved it into his pocket, and sat beside 
Freckles. All the indescribable beauty of the place was 
strong around him, but he saw only the bruised face of the 
suffering boy, who had hedged for the information he 
wanted as a diplomat, argued as a judge, fought as a sheik, 
and triumphed as a devil. 


8o 


FRECKLES 


When the pain lessened and breath relieved Freckles*: 
pounding heart, he watched the Boss covertly. How had 
McLean gotten there and how long had he been there? 
Freckles did not dare ask. At last he arose, and going to 
the case, took out his revolver and the wire-mending ap- 
paratus and locked the door. Then he turned to McLean* t 

“Have you any orders, sir?” he asked. 

“Yes,” said McLean, “I have, and you are to follow 
them to the letter. Turn over that apparatus to me and 
go straight home. Soak yourself in the hottest bath your 
skin will bear and go to bed at once. Now hurry.” 

“Mr. McLean,” said Freckles, “it’s sorry I am to be 
telling you, but the afternoon’s walking of the line ain’t 
done. You see, I was just for getting to me feet to start, 
and I was on time, when up came a gintleman, and we 
got into a little heated argument. It’s either settled, or j: 
it’s just begun, but between us, I’m that late I haven’t 
started for the afternoon yet. I must be going at once, 
for there’s a tree I must find before the day’s over.” 

“You plucky little idiot,” growled McLean. “Yo» 
can’t walk the line! I doubt if you can reach Duncan’s* : 
Don’t you know when you are done up? You go to bed; 
I’ll finish your work.” 

“Niver!” protested Freckles. “I was just a little done 
up for the prisint, a minute ago. I’m all right now. 
Riding-boots are far too low. The day’s hot and the walk 
a good seven miles, sir. Niver!” 

As he reached for the outfit he pitched forward and his 
eyes closed. McLean stretched him on the moss and ap- 
plied restoratives. When Freckles returned to conscious- 


FACES TROUBLE BRAVELY 81 

ness, McLean ran to the cabin to tell Mrs. Duncan to have 
a hot bath ready, and to bring Nellie. That worthy 
woman promptly filled the wash-boiler, starting a roaring 
fire under it. She. pushed the horse-trough from its base 
and rolled it to the kitchen. 

By the time McLean came again, leading Nellie and 
holding Freckles on her back, Mrs. Duncan was ready for 
business. She and the Boss laid Freckles in the trough 
and poured on hot water until he squirmed. They soaked 
and massaged him. Then they drew off* the hot water 
and closed his pores with cold. Lastly they stretched him 
on the floor and chafed, rubbed, and kneaded him until 
he cried out for mercy. As they rolled him into bed, his 
eyes dropped shut, but a little later they flared open. 

“Mr. McLean,” he cried, “the tree! Oh, do be looking 
after the tree!” 

McLean bent over him. “Which tree, Freckles?” 

“I don’t know exact, sir; but it’s on the east line, and 
the wire is fastened to it. He bragged that you nailed 
it yourself, sir. You’ll know it by the bark having been 
laid open to the grain somewhere low down. Five hun- 
dred dollars he offered me — to be — selling you out — sir!” 

Freckles’ head rolled over and his eyes dropped shut. 
McLean towered above the lad. His bright hair waved 
on the pillow. His face was swollen, and purple with 
bruises. His left arm, wdth the hand battered almost out 
of shape, stretched beside him, and the right, with no 
hand at all, lay across a chest that was a mass of purple 
welts. McLean’s mind travelled to the night, almost a 
year before, when he had engaged Freckles, a stranger. 


32 


FRECKLES 


The Boss bent, covering the hurt arm with one hand and 
laying the other with a caress on the boy’s forehead. 
Freckles stirred at his touch, and whispered as softly as 
the swallows under the eaves: “If you’re coming this way 
— to-morrow — be pleased to step over — and we’ll repate — • 
the chorus softly!” 

“Bless the gritty devil,” muttered McLean. 

Then he went out and told M rs. Duncan to keep close 
watch on Freckles, also to send Duncan to him at the 
swamp the minute he came home. Following the trail 
to the line and back to the scene of the fight, the Boss en- 
tered Freckles’ study quietly, as if his spirit, sleeping there, 
might be roused, and gazed around with astonished eyes. 

How had the boy conceived it? What a picture he had 
wrought in living colours! He had the heart of a painter. 
He had the soul of a poet. The Boss stepped carefully 
over the velvet carpet to touch the walls of crisp verdure 
with gentle fingers. He stood long beside the flower-bed, 
and gazed at the banked wall of bright bloom as if he 
doubted its reality. 

Where had Freckles ever found, and how had he trans- 
planted such ferns? As McLean turned from them he 
stopped suddenly. 

He had reached the door of the cathedral. That which 
Freckles had attempted would have been patent to any 
one. What had been in the heart of the shy, silent boy 
when he had found that long, dim stretch of forest, deco- 
rated its entrance, cleared and smoothed its aisle, and car- 
peted its altar? What veriest work of God was in these 
mighty living pillars and the arched dome of green! How 


FACES TROUBLE BRAVELY 


83 

similar to stained cathedral windows were the long open- 
ings between the trees, filled with rifts of blue, rays of 
gold, and the shifting emerald of leaves! Where could be 
found mosaics to match this aisle paved with living colour 
and glowing lights? Was Freckles a devout Christian, 
and did he worship here ? Or was he an untaught heathen, 
and down this vista of entrancing loveliness did Pan come 
piping, and dryads, nymphs, and fairies dance for him? 

Who can fathom the heart of a boy? McLean had 
been thinking of Freckles as a creature of unswerving 
honesty, courage, and faithfulness. Here was evidence of 
a heart aching for beauty, art, companionship, worship. 
It was writ large all over the floor, walls, and furnishing 
of that little Limberlost clearing. 

When Duncan came, McLean told him the story of the 
fight, and they laughed until they cried. Then they started 
around the line in search of the tree. 

Said Duncan: “Now the boy is in for sore trouble!” 

“I hope not,” answered McLean. “You never in all 
your life saw a cur whipped so completely. He won’t 
come back for the repetition of the chorus. We surely, 
can find the tree. If we can’t, Freckles can. I will bring 
enough of the gang to take it out at once. That will insure 
peace for a time, at least, and I am hoping that in a month 
more the whole gang may be moved here. It soon will be 
fall, and then, if he will go, I intend to send Freckles to my 
mother to be educated. With his quickness of mind and 
body and a few years’ good help he can do anything. 
Why, Duncan, I’d give a hundred-dollar bill if you could 
have been here and seen for yourself.” 


FRECKLES 


34 

^ fes, and I’d ’a’ done murder,” muttered the big 
teamster. “I hope, sir, ye will make good your plans for 
F^ckles, though I’d as soon see ony born child o’ my ain 
taken from our home. We love the lad, me and Sarah.” 

Locating the tree was easy, because it was so well identi- 
fied. When the rumble of the big lumber-wagons passing 
the cabin on the way to the swamp wakened Freckles next 
morning, he sprang up and was soon following them. He 
was so sore and stiff that every movement was torture at 
first, but he grew easier, and shortly did not suffer so much. 
McLean scolded him for coming, yet in his heart tri- 
umphed over every new evidence of fineness in the boy. 

The tree was a giant maple, and so precious that they 
almost dug it out by the roots. When it was down, cut 
in lengths, and loaded, there was yet an empty wagon. 
As they were gathering up their tools to go, Duncan said: 
“ There’s a big hollow tree somewhere mighty close here 
that Tve been wanting for a watering-trough for my stock; 
the one I have is so small. The Portland company cut 
this for elm butts last year, and it’s six feet diameter and 
hollow for forty feet. It was a buster! While the men 
are here and there is an empty wagon, why mightn’t I 
load it on and tak’ it up to the barn as we pass?” 

McLean said he was very willing, ordered the driver to 
break line and load the log, detailing men to assist. He 
told Freckles to ride on a section of the maple with him,, 
but now the boy asked to enter the swamp with Duncan, 

“I don’t see why you want to go,” said McLean. “ I 
have no business to let you out to-day at all.” 

“It’s me chickens,” whispered Freckles in distress* 


FACES TROUBLE BRAVELY 


85 

•'You see, I was just after finding yesterday, from me new 
book, how they do be nesting in hollow trees, and there 
ain’t any too many in the swamp. There’s just a chance 
that they might be in that one.” 

“Go ahead,” said McLean. “That’s a different story. 
If they happen to be there, why tell Duncan he must give 
up the tree until they have finished with it.” 

Then he climbed on a wagon and was driven away. 
Freckles hurried into the swamp. He was a little behind, 
yet he could see the men. Before he overtook them, they 
had turned from the west road and had entered the swamp 
toward the east. 

They stopped at the trunk of a monstrous prostrate log. 
It had been cut three feet from the ground, over three- 
fourths of the way through, and had fallen toward the east, 
the body of the log still resting on the stump. The under- 
brush was almost impenetrable, but Duncan plunged in 
and with a crowbar began tapping along the trunk to de- 
cide how far it was hollow, so that they would know where 
to cut. As they waited his decision, there came from the 
mouth of it — on wings — a large black bird that swept over 
their heads. 

Freckles danced wildly. “It’s me chickens! Oh, it’s 
me chickens!” he shouted. “Oh, Duncan, come quick! 
You’ve found the nest of me precious chickens ! ” 

Duncan hurried to the mouth of the log, but Freckles 
was before him. He crashed through poison-vines and 
underbrush regardless of any danger, and climbed on the 
stump. When Duncan came he was shouting like a wild 
man. 


86 


FRECKLES 


“It’s hatched!” he yelled. “Oh, me big chicken has 
hatched out me little chicken, and there's another egg. 1 
can see it plain, and oh, the funny little white baby! Oh, 
Duncan, can you see me little white chicken?” 

Duncan could easily see it; so could every one else. 
Freckles crept into the log and tenderly carried the hissing, 
blinking little bird to the light in a leaf-lined hat. The 
men found it sufficiently wonderful to satisfy even Freckles, 
who had forgotten he was ever sore or stiff, and coddled 
over it with every blarneying term of endearment he knew. 

Duncan gathered his tools. “Deal's off, boys!” he said 
cheerfully. “This log mauna be touched until Freckles' 
chaukies have finished with it. We might as weel gang. 
Better put it back, Freckles. It's just out, and it may 
chill. Ye will probably hae twa the morn.” 

Freckles crept into the log and carefully deposited the 
baby beside the egg. When he came back, he said: “1 
made a big mistake not to be bringing the egg out with the 
baby, but I was fearing to touch it. It's shaped like a 
hen's egg, and it’s big as a turkey's, and the beautifulest 
blue — just splattered with big brown splotches, like me . 
book said, precise. Bet you never saw such a sight as it 
made on the yellow of the rotten wood beside that funny 
leathery-faced little white baby.” 

“Tell you what, Freckles,” said one of the teamsters: 
“Have you ever heard of this Bird Woman who goes all 
over the country with a camera and makes pictures ? She 
made some on my brother Jim's place last summer, and 
Jim's so wild about them he quits ploughing and goes after 
her about every nest he finds. He helps her all he can to 


FACES TROUBLE BRAVELY 


87 

take them, and then she gives him a picture. Jim’s so 
proud of what he has he keeps them in the Bible. Hv 
shows them to everybody that comes, and brags about 
how he helped. If you’re smart, you’ll send for her and 
she’ll come and make a picture just like life. If you help 
her, she will give you one. It would be uncommon pretty 
to keep, after your birds are gone. I dunno what they are. 
I never see their like before. They must be something 
rare. Any you fellows ever see a bird like that hereabouts ?” 

No one ever had. 

“Well,” said the teamster, “failing to get this log lets 
me off till noon, and I’m going to town. I go right past her 
place. I’ve a big notion to stop and tell her. If she 
drives straight back in the swamp on the west road, and 
turns east at this big sycamore, she can’t miss finding the 
tree, even if Freckles ain’t here to show her. Jim says her 
work is a credit to the State she lives in, and any man is a 
measly creature who isn’t willing to help her all he can. 
My old daddy used to say that all there was to religion was 
doing to the other fellow what you’d want him to do to 
, you, and if I was making a living taking bird pictures, 
seems to me I’d be mighty glad for a chance to take one 
like that. So I’ll just stop and tell her, and by gummy! 
maybe she will give me a picture of the little white sucker 
for my trouble.” 

Freckles touched his arm. 

“Will she be rough with it?” he asked. 

“Government land! No!” said the teamster. “She’s 
dead down on anybody that shoots a bird or tears up a 
nest. Why, she’s half killing herself in all kinds of places 


88 


FRECKLES 


and weather to teach people to love and protect the birds. 
She’s that plum careful of them that Jim’s wife says she 
has Jim a standin’ like a big fool holding an ombrelly over 
them when they are young and tender until she gets a 
focus, whatever that is. Jim says there ain’t a bird on his 
place that don’t actually seem to like having her around 
after she has wheedled them a few days, and the pictures 
she takes nobody would ever believe who didn’t stand by 
and see.” 

“Will you be sure to tell her to come?” asked Freckles. I 

Duncan slept at home that night. He heard Freckles 1 
slipping out early the next morning, but he was too sleepy 1 
to wonder why, until he came to do his morning chores. 
When he found that none of his stock was at all thirsty, i 
and saw the water-trough brimming, he knew that the boy 
was trying to make up to him for the loss of the big trough 
that he had been so anxious to have. 

“Bless his fool little hot heart!” said Duncan. “And 
him so sore it is tearing him to move for anything. Nae 
wonder he has us all loving him!” 

Freckles was moving briskly, and his heart was so happy 
that he forgot all about the bruises. He hurried around 
the trail, and on his way down the east side he went to see 
the chickens. The mother-bird was on the nest. He was 
afraid the other egg might be hatching, so he did not 
venture to disturb her. He made the round and reached 
his study early. He ate his lunch, but did not need to 
start on the second trip until the middle of the afternoon- 
He would have long hours to work on his flower-bed, im- 
prove his study, and learn about his chickens. Lovingly 


FACES TROUBLE BRAVELY 89 

he set his room in order and watered the flowers and car- 
pet. He had chosen for his resting-place the coolest spot 
on the west side, where there was almost always a breeze; 
but to-day the heat was so intense that it penetrated even 
there. 

“Fm mighty glad there’s nothing calling me inside!” he 
isaid. “There’s no bit of air stirring, and it will just be 
steaming. Oh, but it’s luck Duncan found the nest be- 
fore it got so unbearing hot ! I might have missed it alto- 
gether. Wouldn’t it have been a shame to lose that sight r 
The cunning little divil! When he gets to toddling 
down that log to meet me, won’t he be a circus ? Won- 
der if he’ll be as graceful a performer afoot as his father 
and mother?” 

The heat became more insistent. Noon came; Freckles 
ate his dinner and settled for an hour or two on a bench 
with a book. 





































































































CHAPTER V 


Wherein an Angel Materializes anb 
a Man Worships 



















CHAPTER V 


Wherein an Angel Materializes and 
a Man Worships 

P ERHAPS there was a breath of sound — Freckles 
never afterward could remember — but for some 
reason he lifted his head as the bushes parted and 
the face of an angel looked between. Saints, nymphs* 
and fairies had floated down his cathedral aisle for 
him many times, with forms and voices of exquisite 
beauty. 

Parting the wild roses at the entrance was beauty of 
which Freckles never had dreamed. Was it real or would 
it vanish as the other dreams ? He dropped his book, and 
rising to his feet, went a step closer, gazing intently. This 
was real flesh and blood. It was in every way kin to the 
Timberlost, for no bird of its branches swung with easier 
grace than this dainty young thing rocked on the bit of 
morass on which she stood. A sapling beside her was not 
straighter or rounder than her slender form. Her soft, 
waving hair clung around her face from the heat, and curled 
over her shoulders. It was ail of one piece with the gold ot 
the sun that filtered between the branches. Her eyes 
were the deepest blue of the iris, her lips the reddest red of 
‘the foxfire, while her cheeks were exactly of the same satin 
as the wild rose petals caressing them. She was smiling at 


03 


FRECKLES 


94 

Freckles in perfect confidence, and she cried: “Oh, I’m sc 
delighted that I’ve found you!” 

The wildly leaping heart of Freckles burst from his body 
and fell in the blac k swamp-muck at her feet with such a 
thud that he did not understand how she could avoid hear- 
ing. He really felt that if she looked down she would see. 

Incredulous, he quavered: “An’ — an’ was you looking 
for me?” 

“I hoped I might find you,” said the Angel. “You see, 

I didn’t do as I was told, and I'm lost. The Bird Woman 
said I should wait in the carriage until she came back. ] 
She’s been gone hours. It’s a perfect Turkish bath in, 
there, and I’m all lumpy with mosquito bites. Just when 
I thought that I couldn’t bear it another minute, along 
came the biggest Papiiio Ajax you ever saw. I knew how 
pleased she’d be, so I ran after it. It flew so slow and so 
low that I thought a dozen times I had it. Then all at 
once it went from sight above the trees, and I couldn’t find 
my way back to save me. I think I’ve walked more than 
an hour. I have been mired to my knees. A thorn raked 
my arm until it is bleeding, and I’m so tired and warm.” 

She parted the bushes farther. Freckles saw that her 
blue cotton frock clung to her, limp with perspiration. It 
was torn across the breast. One sleeve hung open from 
shoulder to elbow. A thorn had torn her arm until it was 
covered with blood, and the gnats and mosquitoes were 
clustering around it. Her feet were in lace hose and low 
shoes Freckles gasped. In the Limberlost in low shoes! 
He caught an armful of moss from his carpet and buried it 
in the ooze in front of her for a footing. 


AN ANGEL MATERIALIZES 95 

"Come out here so I can see where you are stepping. 
Quick, for the life of you!” he ordered. 

She smiled on him indulgently. 

“Why?” she inquired. 

“ Did anybody let you come here and not be telling you 
of the snakes?” urged Freckles. 

“We met Mr. McLean on the corduroy, and he did say 
something about snakes, I believe. The Bird Woman put 
I on leather leggings, and a nice, parboiled time she must be 
having! Worse dose I ever endured, and I’d nothing ta 
do but swelter.” 

“Will you be coming out of there?” groaned Freckles. 

She laughed as if it were a fine joke. 

“Maybe if Fd be telling you I killed a rattler curled 
upon that same place you’re standing, as long as me body 
and the thickness of me arm, you’d be moving where I can 
see your footing,” he urged insistently. 

“What a perfectly delightful little brogue you speak,” 
she said. “My father is Irish, and half should be enough to 
entitle me to that much. ‘Maybe — if I’d — be telling you/ ” 
she imitated, rounding and accenting each word carefully. 

Freckles was beginning to feel a wildness in his head. 
He had derided Wessner at that same hour yesterday. 
Now his own eyes were filling with tears. 

“If you were understanding the danger!” he continued 
desperately. 

“Oh, I don’t think there is much!” 

She tilted on the morass. 

“If you killed one snake here, it’s probably all there is 
near; and anyway, the Bird Woman says a rattlesnake is a 


FRECKLES 


96 

gentleman and always gives warning before he strikes. I 
don’t hear any rattling. Do you ? ” 

“Would you be knowing it if you did?” asked Freckles, 
almost impatiently. 

Flow the laugh of the young thing rippled! 

“Would I be knowing it?’” she mocked. “You should 
see the swamps of Michigan where they dump rattlers from 
the marl-dredgers three and four at a time!” 

Freckles stood astounded. She did know. She was not 
in the least afraid. She was depending on a rattlesnake to 
live up to his share of the contract and rattle in time for her 
to move. The one characteristic an Irishman admires in 
a woman, above all others, is courage. Freckles wor~ 
shipped anew. He changed his tactics. 

“Fd be pleased to be receiving you at me front door,* 
he said, “but as you have arrived at the back, will you 
come in and be seated?” 

He waved toward a bench. The Angel came instantly. 

“Oh, how lovely and cool!” she cried. 

As she moved across his room, Freckles had difficult 
work to keep from falling on his knees; for they were very 
weak, while he was hard driven by an impulse to worship. 

“Did you arrange this?” she asked. 

“Yis,” said Freckles simply. 

“Some one must come with a big canvas and copy each 
side of it,” she said. “I never saw anything so beautiful! 
How I wish I might remain here with you! I will, some 
day, if you will let me; but now, if you can spare the time, 
will you help me find the carriage? If the Bird Woman 
comes back and I am gone, she will be almost distracted.” 


AN ANGEL MATERIALIZES 


97 


“Did you come on the west road?” asked Freckles. 

“I think so,” she said. “The man who told the Bird 
Woman said that was the only place the wires were down. 
We drove away in, and it was dreadful — over stumps and 
logs, and we mired to the hubs. I suppose you know, 
though. I should have stayed in the carriage, but I was so 
tired. I never dreamed of getting lost. I suspect I will 
be scolded finely. I go with the Bird Woman half the 
time during the summer vacations. My father says I learn 
a lot more than I do at school, and get it straight. I never 
came within a smell of being lost before. I thought, at 
first, it was going to be horrid; but since Fve found you, 
maybe it will be good fun after all.” 

Freckles was amazed to hear himself excusing: “It was 
so hot in there. You couldn’t be expected to bear it for 
hours and not be moving. I can take you around the trail 
almost to where you were. Then you can sit in the car- 
riage, and I will go find the Bird Woman.” 

“You’ll be killed if you do! When she stays this long, it 
means that she has a focus on something. You see, when 
she has a focus, and lies in the weeds and water for hours, 
and the sun bakes her, and things crawl over her, and then 
some one comes along and scares her bird away just as she 
has it coaxed up — why, she kills them. If I melt, you 
Won’t go after her. She’s probably blistered and half 
eaten up; but she never will quit until she is satisfied.” 

“Then it will be safer to be taking care of you,” sug- 
gested Freckles. 

“Now you’re talking sense!” said the Angel. 

'"May I try to help your arm?” he asked. 


FRECKLES 


“Have you any idea how it hurts ?” she parried. 

“A little, ” said Freckles. 

“Well, Mr. McLean said we’d probably find his soe , 
here ” 

“His son!” cried Freckles. 

“That’s what he said. And that you would do any- 
thing you could for us; and that we could trust you with 
our lives. But I w^ould have trusted you anyway, if I 
hadn’t known a thing about you. Say, your father is 
rampaging proud of you, isn’t he?” 

“I don’t know,” answered the dazed Freckles. 

“Well, call on me if you want reliable information. 
He’s so proud of you he is all swelled up like the toad 
in iEsop’s Fables. If you have ever had an arm hurt 
like this, and can do anything, why, for pity sake, do 
it!” 

She turned back her sleeve, holding toward Freckles an 
arm of palest cameo, shaped so exquisitely that no sculptor 
could have chiselled it. 

Freckles unlocked his case, and taking out some cotton 
cloth, he tore it in strips. Then he brought a bucket of the 
cleanest water he could find. She yielded herself to his 
touch as a baby, and he bathed away the blood and band- 
aged the ugly, ragged wound. He finished his surgery by 
lapping the torn sleeve over the cloth and binding it down 
with a piece of twine, with the Angel’s help about the 
knots. 

Freckles worked with trembling fingers and a face tense 
with earnestness. 

“Is it feeling any better?” he asked. 


AN ANGEL MATERIALIZES 99 

"Oh, it’s well. now!” cried the Angel. “It doesn’t hurt 
.at all, any more.” 

“I’m mighty glad,” said Freckles. “But you had best 
go and be having your doctor fix it right, the minute you 
get home.” 

“Oh, bother! A little scratch like that!” jeered the 
Angel. “My blood is perfectly pure. It will heal in three 
days.” 

“It’s cut cruel deep. It might be making a scar,’ 1 " 
faltered Freckles, his eyes on the ground. “’Twould — • 
j’twculd be an awful pity. A doctor might know some- 
i thing to prevent it.” 

“Why, I never thought of that!” exclaimed the Angel. 

“I noticed you didn’t,” said Freckles softly. “I don’t 
know much about it, but it seems as if most girls would.’* 

The Angel thought intently, while Freckles still knelt 
l beside her. Suddenly she gave herself an impatient little 
shake, lifted her glorious eyes full to his, and the smile that 
[ swept her sweet, young face was the loveliest thing that 

1 Freckles ever had seen. 

“Don’t let’s bother about it,” she proposed, with the 
faintest hint of a confiding gesture toward him. “ It won’t 
; make a scar. Why, it couldn’t, when you have dressed it 
) so nicely.” 

The velvety touch of her warm arm was tingling in 
i Freckles’ finger-tips. Dainty laces and fine white puffs 
; peeped through her torn dress. There were beautiful 
I rings on her fingers. Every article she wore was of the 
finest material and in excellent taste. There was the 
trembling Limberlost guard in his coarse clothing, with 


IOO 


FRECKLES 


his cotton-rags and his old pail of swamp-water. Freckles 
was sufficiently accustomed to contrasts to notice them, 
and sufficiently fine to be hurt by them always. 

He lifted his eyes with a shadowy pain in them to hers,, 
and found them of serene, unconscious purity. What she 
had said was straight from a kind, untainted, young heart. 
She meant every word of it. Freckles’ soul sickened. Ho 
scarcely knew whether he could muster strength to stand* 

“We must go and hunt for the carriage,” said tho 
Angel, rising. 

In instant alarm for her, Freckles sprang up, grasped 
the cudgel, and led the way, sharply watching every step, 
He went as close the log as he felt that he dared, and with a 
little searching found the carriage. He cleared a path for 
the Angel, and with a sigh of relief saw her enter it safely. 
The heat was intense. She pushed the damp hair from 
her temples. 

“This is a shame!” said Freckles. “You’ll never bo 
coming here again.” 

“Oh yes I shall!” said the Angel. “The Bird Woman 
says that these birds remain over a month in the nest and 
she would like to make a picture every few days for seven 
or eight weeks, perhaps.” 

Freckles barely escaped crying aloud for joy. 

“Then don’t you ever be torturing yourself and your 
horse to be coming in here again,’* he said. “ I’ll show you 
a way to drive almost to the nest on the east trail, and then 
you can come around to my room and stay while the Bird 
Woman works It’s nearly always cool there, and there’s 
comfortable seats, and water.” 


AN ANGEL MATERIALIZES 


IOI 


“Oh! did you have drinking-water there ?” she cried* 
“I was never so thirsty or so hungry in my life, but I 
thought I wouldn’t mention it/* 

“And I had not the wit to be seeing !” wailed Freckles. 
“I can be getting you a good drink in no time.” 

He turned to the trail. 

“ Please wait a minute,” called the Angel. “ What’s your 
name? I want to think about you while you are gone.” 

Freckles lifted his face with the brown rift across it and 
smiled quizzically. 

“ F reckles ? ” she guessed, with a peal of laughter. “ And 
mine is ” 

“I’m knowing yours,” interrupted Freckles. 

“I don’t believe you do. What is it?” asked the girl, 

“You won’t be getting angry?” 

“Not until I’ve had the water, at least.” 

It was Freckles’ turn to laugh. He whipped off his big,, 
floppy straw-hat, stood uncovered before her, and said, in 
the sweetest of all the sweet tones of his voice: “There’s 
nothing you could be but the Swamp Angel.” 

The girl laughed happily. 

Once out of her sight, Freckles ran every step of the way 
to the cabin. Mrs. Duncan gave him a small bucket of 
Water, cool from the well. He carried it in the crook of 
his right arm, and a basket filled with bread and butter,, 
cold meat, apple pie, and pickles, in his left hand. 

“Pickles are kind o’ cooling,” said Mrs. Duncan. 

Then Freckles ran again. 

The Angel was on her knees, reaching for the bucket* 
as he came up. 


102 


FRECKLES 


“Be drinking slow,” he cautioned her. 

“Oh!” she cried, with a long breath of satisfaction* 
“It’s so good! You are more than kind to bring it!” 

Freckles stood blinking in the dazzling glory of her 
smile until he scarcely could see to lift the basket. 

“Mercy!” she exclaimed. “I think I had better be 
naming you the ‘Angel.’ My Guardian Angel.” 

“Yis,” said Freckles. “I look the character every day 
— but to-day most emphatic!” 

“Angels don’t go by looks,” laughed the girl. 

“Your father told us you had been scrapping. But he 
told us why. I’d gladly wear all your cuts and bruises if 
I could do anything that would make my father look as 
peacocky as yours did. He strutted about proper. I 
never saw any one look prouder.” 

“Did he say he was proud of me?” marvelled Freckles. 

“He didn’t need to,” answered the Angel. “He was 
radiating pride from every pore. Now, have you brought 
me your dinner?” 

“I had my dinner two hours ago,” answered Freckles. 

’Honest Injun?” bantered the Angel. 

“Honest! I brought that on purpose for you.” 

“Well, if you knew how hungry I am, you would knov7 
how thankful I am, to the dot,” said the Angel. 

“Then you be eating,” cried the happy Freckles. 

The Angel sat on a big camera, spread the lunch on the 
carriage-seat, and divided it in halves. The daintiest 
parts she could select she carefully put back into the bas- 
ket. The remainder she ate. Again Freckles found her 
©f the swamp, for though she was almost ravenous, she 


AN ANGEL MATERIALIZES 


103 

managed her food as gracefully as his little yellow fellow, 
and her every movement was easy and charming. As he 
Watched her with famished eyes, Fre,ckles told her of his 
birds, flowers, and books, and never realized what he was 
doing. 

He led the horse to a deep pool that he knew of, and 
the tortured creature drank greedily, and lovingly rubbed 
him with its nose as he wiped down its welted body with 
grass. Suddenly the Angel cried: “There comes the Bird 
Woman! ” 

Freckles had intended leaving before she came, but 
now he was glad indeed to be there, for a warmer, more 
worn, and worse bitten creature he never had seen. She 
was staggering under a load of cameras and parapher- 
nalia. Freckles ran to her aid. He took all he could 
carry of her load, stowed it in the back of the carriage, 
and helped her in. The Angel gave her water, knelt and 
unfastened the leggings, bathed her face, and offered the 
lunch. 

Freckles brought the horse. He was not sure about the 
harness, but the Angel knew, and soon they left the swamp. 
Then he showed them how to reach the chicken tree from 
the outside, indicated a cooler place for the horse, and told 
them how, the next time they came, the Angel could find 
his room while she waited. 

The Bird Woman finished her lunch, and lay back, 
almost too tired to speak. 

“Were you for getting Little Chicken’s picture?” 
Freckles asked. 

“Finely!” she answered. 


“He posed splendidly. But 


FRECKLES 


104 

I couldn’t do anything with his mother. She will require 
coaxing.” 

“The Lord be praised!” muttered Freckles under his 
breath. 

The Bird Woman began to feel better. 

“Why do you call the baby vulture ‘Little Chicken* ?” 
she asked, leaning toward Freckles in an interested 
manner, 

“’Twas Duncan began it,” said Freckles. “You see* 
through the fierce cold of winter the birds of the swamp 
were almost starving. It is mighty lonely here, and they 
were all the company I was having. I got to carrying 
scraps and grain down to them. Duncan was that giner* 
ous he was giving me of his wheat and corn from hi* 
chickens’ feed, and he called the birds me swamp chickens. 
Then when these big black fellows came, Mr. McLean 
said they were our nearest kind to some in the old world 
that they called ‘Pharaoh’s Chickens,’ and he called mine 
‘Freckles’ Chickens.’” 

“Good enough!” cried the Bird Woman, her splotched 
purple face lighting with interest. “You must shoot 
something for them occasionally, and I’ll bring more food 
when I come. If you will help me keep them until I get 
my series, I’ll give you a copy of each study I make, 
mounted in a book.” 

Freckles drew a deep breath. 

“Til be doing me very best,” he promised, and from the 
deeps he meant it. 

“I wonder if that other egg is going to hatch?” mused 
the Bird Woman. “I am afraid not. It should have 


AN ANGEL MATERIALIZES 


105 

pipped to-day. Isn’t it a beauty! I never before saw 
either an egg or the young. They are rare this far 
north.” 

“So Mr. McLean said,” answered FrecMes. 

Before they drove away, the Bird Woman thanked him 
for his kindness to the Angel and to her. She gave him 
her hand at parting, and Freckles joyfully realized that 
this was going to be another person for him to love. He 
could not remember, after they had driven away, that 
they even had noticed his missing hand, and for the first 
time in his life he had forgotten it. 

When the Bird Woman and the Angel were on the 
home road, she told of the little corner of paradise into 
which she had strayed and of her new name. The Bird 
Woman looked at the girl and guessed its appropriate* 
ness. 

“Did you know Mr. McLean had a son?” asked the 
Angel. “Isn’t the little accent he has, and the way he 
twists a sentence, too dear ? And isn’t it too old-fashioned 
and funny to hear him call his father ‘mister’?” 

“It sounds too good to be true,” said the Bird Woman, 
answering the last question first. “I am so tired of these 
present-day young men who patronizingly call their 
fathers ‘Dad,’ ‘Governor,’ ‘Old Man,’ and ‘Old Chap,’ 
that the boy’s attitude of respect and deference appealed 
to me as being fine as silk. There must be something rare 
about that young man.” 

She did not find it necessary to tell the Angel that for 
several years she had known the man who so proudly 
proclaimed himself Freckles’ father to be a bachelor and a 


io6 


FRECKLES 


Scotchman. The Bird Woman had a fine way of attend' 
ing strictly to her own business. 

Freckles turned to the trail, but he stopped at every 
wild brier to study the pink satin of the petals. She was 
not of his world, and better than any other he knew it: 
but she might be his Angel, and he was dreaming of naught 
but blind, silent worship. He finished the happiest day oi 
his life, and that night he returned to the swamp as if 
drawn by invisible force. That Wessner would try for hi? 
revenge, he knew. That he would be abetted by Black 
Jack was almost certain, but fear had fled the happy 
heart of Freckles. He had kept his trust. He had wor, 
the respect of the Boss. No one ever could wipe from hie 
heart the flood of holy adoration that had welled with thf 
coming of his Angel. He would do his best, and trust 
for strength to meet the dark day of reckoning that 
he knew would come sooner or later. He swung round 
the trail, briskly tapping the wire, and singing in a 
Voice that scarcely could have been surpassed for sweet- 
ness. 

At the edge of the clearing he came into the bright 
moonlight, and there sat McLean on his mare. Freckles 
hurried to him. 

“Is there trouble ?” he inquired anxiously. 

“That’s what I wanted to ask you,” said the Boss. 
“I stopped at the cabin to see you a minute, before I 
turned in, and they said you had come down here. You 
must not do it. Freckles. The swamp is none too health- 
ful at any time, and at night it is rank poison.” 

Freckles stood comhing his fingers through Nellie’s 


AN ANGEL MATERIALIZES icy 

mane, while the dainty creature was twisting her head for 
his caresses. He pushed back his hat and looked into 
McLean’s face. “It’s come to the ‘sleep with one eye 
open/ sir. I’m not looking for anything to be happening 
for a week or two, but it’s bound to come, and soon. If 
Fm to keep me trust as Fve promised you and meself, Fve 
to live here mostly until the gang comes. You must be 
knowing that, sir.” 

“Fm afraid it’s true, Freckles,” said McLean. “And 
Fve decided to double the guard until we come. It will 
be only a few weeks, now; and Fm so anxious for you 
that you must not be left alone further. If anything 
should happen to you, Freckles, it would spoil one of the 
very dearest plans of my life.” 

Freckles heard with dismay the proposition to place 
a second guard. 

“Oh! no, no, Mr. McLean,” he cried. “Not for the 
world! I wouldn’t be having a stranger around, scaring 
me birds and tramping up me study, and disturbing all 
me ways, for any money! I am all the guard you need! 
I will be faithful! I will turn over the lease with no tree 
missing — on me life, I will! Oh, don’t be sending another 
man to set them saying I turned coward and asked for 
help. It will just kill the honour of me heart if you do it. 
The only thing I want is another gun. If it railly comes 
to trouble, six cartridges ain’t many, and you know I am 
slow-like about reloading.” 

McLean reached into his hip pocket and handed a 
shining big revolver to Freckles, who slipped it beside the 
one alreadv in his belt. 


io8 


FRECKLES 


Then the Boss sat brooding. 

“Freckles,” he said at last, “we never know the timbef 
of a man’s soul until something cuts into him deeply and 
brings the grain out strong. You’ve the making of a 
mighty fine piece of furniture, my boy, and you shall 
have your own way these few weeks yet. Then, if you 
will go, I intend to take you to the city and educate you, 
and you are to be my son, my lad — my own son!” 

Freckles twisted his fingers in Nellie’s mane to steady 
himself. 

“But why should you be doing that, sir?” he faltered. 

McLean slid his arm around the boy’s shoulders and 
gathered him close. 

“Because I love you, Freckles,” he said simply. 

Freckles lifted a white face. “My God, sir!” he whis* 
pered. “Oh, my God!” 

McLean tightened his clasp a second longer, then he 
rode down the trail. 

Freckles lifted his hat and faced the sky. The harvest 
moon looked down, sheeting the swamp in silver glory. 
The Limberlost sang her night song. The swale softly 
rustled in the wind. Winged things of night brushed his 
face; and still Freckles gazed upward, trying to fathom 
these things that had come to him. There was no help 
from the sky. It seemed far away, cold, and blue. The 
earth, where flowers blossomed, angels walked, and love 
could be found, was better. But to One, above, he must 
make acknowledgment for these miracles. His lips moved 
and he began talking softly. 

“Thank You for each separate good thing that has come 


AN ANGEL MATERIALIZES 109 

to me,” he said, “and above all for the falling of the 
feather. For if it didn’t really fall from an angel, its 
falling brought an Angel, and if it’s in the great heart of 
You to exercise Yourself any further about me; oh, do 
please to be taking good care of her!” 








I 



CHAPTER VI 


Wherein a Fight Occurs and WomeK 
Shoot Straight 


CHAPTER VI 


Wherein a Fight Occurs and Women 
Shoot Straight 

T HE following morning Freckles, inexpressibly 
happy, circled the Limberlost. He kept snatches 
of song ringing, as well as the wires. His heart was 
so full that tears of joy glistened in his eyes. He rigo- 
rously strove to divide his thought evenly between McLean 
and the Angel. He realized to the fullest the debt he al- 
ready owed the Boss and the magnitude of last night’s 
declaration and promises. He was hourly planning to 
deliver his trust and then enter with equal zeal on what- 
ever task his beloved Boss saw fit to set him next. He 
wanted to be ready to meet every device that Wessner and 
Black Jack could think of to outwit him. He recognized 
their double leverage, for if they succeeded in felling even 
one tree McLean became liable for his wager. 

Freckles’ brow wrinkled in his effort to think deeply and 
strongly, but from every swaying wild rose the Angei 
beckoned to him. When he crossed Sleepy Snake Creek 
and the goldfinch, waiting as ever, challenged: “ See me ?” 
Freckles saw the dainty swayinggrace of the Angel instead. 
What is a man to do with an Angel who dismembers 
herself and scatters over a whole swamp, thrusting a vivid 
reminder upon him at every turnr 


FRECKLES 


114 

Freckles counted the days. This first one he could do 
little but test his wires, sing broken snatches, and dream; 
but before the week would bring her again he could do 
many things. He would carry all his books to the swamp 
to show to her. He would complete his flower-bed, ar- 
range every detail he had planned for his room, and make 
of it a bower fairies might envy. He must devise a way to 
keep water cool. He would ask Mrs. Duncan for a double 
lunch and an especially nice one the day of her next coming, 
so that if the Bird Woman happened to be late, the Angel 
might not suffer from thirst and hunger. He would tell 
her to bring heavy leather leggings, so that he might take 
her on a trip around the trail. She should make friends 
with all of his chickens and see their nests. 

On the line he talked of her incessantly. 

“You needn't be thinking," he said to the goldfinch, 
“that because I'm coming down this line alone day after 
day, it's always to be so. Some of these times you'll be 
swinging on this wire, and you’ll see me coming, and you'll 
swing, skip, and flirt yourself around, and chip up right 
spunky: ‘ See me ? 9 I'll be saying ‘See you? Oh, Lord! 
See her!’ You'll look, and there she'll stand. The sun- 
shine won't look gold any more, or the roses pink, or the 
sky blue, because she'll be the pinkest, bluest, goldest 
thing of all. You’ll be yelling yourself hoarse with the 
jealousy of her. The saw-bird will stretch his neck out of 
joint, and she’ll turn the heads of all the flowers. Where- 
ever she goes, I can go back afterward and see the things 
she's seen, walk the path she's walked, hear the grasses 
whispering over all she’s said; and if there’s a place too 


A FIGHT OCCURS 


ii5 

swampy for her bits of feet; Holy Mother! maybe — maybe 
she’d be putting the beautiful arms of her around me neck 
and letting me carry her over!” 

Freckles shivered as with a chill. He sent the cudgel 
whirling skyward, dexterously caught it, and set it spin* 
ning. 

“You damned presumptuous fool!” he cried. “The 
thing for you to be thinking of would be to stretch in the 
muck for the feet of her to be walking over, and then you 
could hold yourself holy to be even of that service to her. 

“Maybe she’ll be wanting the cup me blue-and-brown 
chickens raised their babies in. Perhaps she’d like to stop 
at the pool and see me bullfrog that had the goodness to 
take on human speech to show me the way out of me 
trouble. If there’s any feathers falling that day, why, it’s 
from the wings of me chickens — it’s sure to be, for the only 
Angel outside the gates will be walking this timber-line, 
and every step of the way I’ll be holding me breath and 
praying that she don’t unfold wings and sail away before 
the hungry eyes of me.” 

So Freckles dreamed his dreams, made his plans, and 
watched his line. He counted not only the days, but the 
hours of each day. As he told them off, every one bring- 
ing her closer, he grew happier in the prospect of her 
coming. He managed daily to leave some offering at the 
big elm log for his black chickens. He slipped under the 
line at every passing, and went to make sure that nothing 
was molesting them. Though it was a long trip, he paid 
them several extra visits a day for fear a snake, hawk, or 
fox might have found the baby. For now his chickens not 


FRECKLES 


116 

only represented all his former interest in them, but thej 
furnished the inducement that was bringing his Angel. 

Possibly he could find other subjects that the Bird 
Woman wanted. The teamster had said that his brother 
went after her every time he found a nest. He never had 
counted the nests that he knew of, and it might be that 
among all the birds of the swamp some would be rare to 
her. 

The feathered folk of the Limberlost were practically 
undisturbed save by their natural enemies. It was very 
probable that among his chickens others as odd as the big 
black ones could be found. If she wanted pictures of half- 
grown birds, he could pick up fifty in one morning’s trip 
around the line, for he had fed, handled, and made friends 
with them ever since their eyes opened. 

He had gathered bugs and worms all spring as he noticed 
them on the grass and bushes, and dropped them into the 
first little open mouth he had found. The babies gladly 
had accepted this queer tri-parent addition to their nat- 
ural providers. 

When the week has passed, Freckles had his room crisp 
and glowing with fresh living things that represented every 
colour of the swamp. He carried bark and filled all the 
muckiest places of the trail. 

It was middle July. The heat of the past few days had 
dried the water around and through the Limberlost, so that 
it was possible to cross it on foot in almost any direction — 
if one had an idea of direction and did not become com- 
pletely lost in its rank tangle of vegetation and bushes. 
The brighter hued flowers were opening. The trumpet- 


A FIGHT OCCURS 


117 

cteepers were flaunting their gorgeous horns of red and 
gold sweetness from the tops of lordly oak and elm, and be- 
low entire pools were pink-sheeted in mallow bloom. 

The heat was doing one other thing that was bound to 
make Freckles, as a good Irishman, shiver. As the swale 
dried, its inhabitants were seeking the cooler depths of the 
swamp. They liked neither the heat nor leaving the field- 
mice, moles, and young rabbits of their chosen location. 
He saw them crossing the trail every day as the heat grew 
intense. The rattlers were sadly forgetting their manners, 
for they struck on no provocation whatever, and did not 
even remember to rattle afterward. Daily Freckles was 
compelled to drive big black snakes and blue racers from 
the nests of his chickens. Often the terrified squalls of the 
parent birds would reach him far down the line and he 
would run to rescue the babies. 

He saw the Angel when the carriage turned from the 
corduroy into the clearing. They stopped at the west 
entrance to the swamp, waiting for him to precede them 
down the trail, as he had told them it was safest for the 
horse that he should do. They followed the east line to a 
point opposite the big chickens’ tree, and Freckles carried 
in the cameras and showed the Bird Woman a path he had 
cleared to the log. He explained to her the effect the heat 
was having on the snakes, and creeping back to Little 
Chicken, brought him to the light. As she worked at set- 
ting up her camera, he told her of the birds of the line, 
while she stared at him, wide-eyed and incredulous. 

They arranged that Freckles should drive the carriage 
into the east entrance in the shade and then take the horse 


Ii8 


FRECKLES 


toward the north to a better place he knew. Then he was 
to entertain the Angel at his study or on the line until the 
Bird Woman finished her work and came to them. 

“This will take only a little time,” she said. “I know 
where to set the camera now, and Little Chicken is big 
enough to be good and too small to run away or to act very 
ugly, so I will be coming soon to see about those nests. I 
have ten plates along, and I surely won’t use more than 
two on him; so perhaps I can get some nests or young 
birds this morning/’ 

Freckles almost flew, for his dream had come true sc 
soon. He was walking the timber-line and the Angel was 
following him. He asked to be excused for going first, be- 
cause he wanted to be sure the trail was safe for her. She 
liaughed at his fears, telling him that it was the polite thing 
for him to do, anyway. 

“Oh!” said Freckles, “so you was after knowing that! 
Well, I didn’t s’pose you did, and I was afraid you’d think 
me wanting in respect to be preceding you!” 

The astonished A.ngel looked at him, caught the irre- 
pressible gleam of Irish fun in his eyes, so they stood and 
laughed together. 

Freckles did not realize how he was talking that morning. 
He showed her many of the beautiful nests and eggs of the 
line. She could identify a number of them, but of some 
she was ignorant, so they made notes of the number and 
colour of the eggs, material, and construction of nest, 
colour, size, and shape of the birds, and went to find them 
in the book. 

At his room, when Freckles had lifted the overhanging 


A FIGHT OCCURS 119 

bushes and stepped back for her to enter, his heart was all 
out of time and place. The study was vastly more beauti- 
ful than a week previous. The Angel drew a deep breath 
and stood gazing first at one side, then at another, then fat 
down the cathedral aisle. “It’s just fairy-land !” she 
cried, ecstatically. Then she turned and stared at Freckles 
as she had at his handiwork. 

“What are you planning to be?” she asked wonderingly. 

“Whatever Mr. McLean wants me to,” he replied. 

“What do you do most?” she asked. 

“Watch me lines.” 

“I don’t mean work!” 

“Oh, in me spare time I keep me room and study in 
me books.” 

“Do you work on the room or the books most?” 

“On the room only what it takes to keep it up, and the 
rest of the time on me books.” 

The Angel studied him closely. “Well, maybe you are 
going to be a great scholar,” she said, “but you don’t look 
it. Your face isn’t right for that, but it’s got something 
big in it — something really great. I must find out what it 
is and then you mast work on it. Your father is expecting 
you to do something. One can tell by the way he talks. 
You should begin right away. You’ve wasted too much 
time already.” 

Poor Freckles hung his head. He never had wasted 
an hour in his life. There never had been one that was 
his to waste. 

The Angel, studying him intently, read the thought in 
his face. “Oh, I don’t mean that!” she cried, with the 


120 


FRECKLES 


frank dismay of sixteen. “Of course, you're not lazy! 
No one ever would think that from your appearance. It's 
this I mean: there is something fine, strong, and full of 
power in your face. There is something you are to do 
in this world, and no matter how you work at all these 
other things, or how successfully you do them, it is all 
wasted until you find the one thing that you can do best. 
If you hadn't a thing in the world to keep you, and couldj 
go anywhere you please and do anything you want, what 
would you do ? " persisted the Angel. 

“I’d go to Chicago and sing in the First Episcopal 
choir," answered Freckles promptly. 

The Angel dropped on a seat — the hat she had removed 
and held in her fingers rolled to her feet. “There!" she 
exclaimed vehemently. “You can see what I'm going 
to be. Nothing! Absolutely nothing! You can sing? 
Of course you can sing! It is written all over you." 

“Any one with half wit could have seen he could sing, 
without having to be told," she thought. “It's in the 
slenderness of his fingers and his quick nervous touch. It 
is in the brightness of his hair, the fire of his eyes, the 
breadth of his chest, the muscles of his throat and neck; 
and above all, it's in every tone of his voice, for even as he 
speaks it’s the sweetest sound I ever heard from the throat 
of a mortal." 

“Will you do something for me?" she asked. 

“I’ll do anything in the world you want me to," said 
Freckles largely; “and if I can't do what you want, I'll go 
to work at once and I’ll try 'til I can." 

“Good! That's business!" said the Angel. “You go 


121 


A FIGHT OCCURS 

over there and stand before that hedge and sing some- 
thing. Just anything you think of first.” 

Freckles faced the Angel from his banked wall of brown, 
blue* and crimson, with its background of solid green, and 
lifting his face to the sky, he sang the first thing that came 
into his mind. It was a children’s song that he had led 
for the little folks at the Home many times, recalled to hi? 
mind by the Angel’s exclamation: 

“To fairy-land we go, 

With a song of joy, heigh-o: 

In dreams we’ll stand upon that shore 
And all the realm behold; 

We’ll see the sights so grand 
That belong to fairy-land. 

Its mysteries we will explore. 

Its beauties will unfold. 

Oh, tra, la, la, oh, ha, ha, ha! We’re happy now as we can be, 

Our welcome song we will prolong, and greet you with our melody. 

O, fairy-land, sweet fairy-land, we love to sing 99 

No song could have given the intense sweetness and 
sollicking quality of Freckles’ voice better scope. He 
forgot everything but pride in his work. He was singing 
the chorus, and the Angel was shivering in ecstasy, when 
clip ! clip ! came the sharply beating feet of a swiftly ridden 
horse down the trail from the north. They both sprang 
toward the entrance. 

" Freckles! Freckles!” called the voice of the Bird 
Woman. 

They were at the trail on the instant. 

"Both those revolvers loaded?” she asked. 

"Yes,” said Freckles. 


122 


FRECKLES 


“Is there a way you can cut across the swamp am* 
reach the chicken tree in a few minutes, and with little 
noise ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Then go flying,” said the Bird Woman. “Give the 
Angel a lift behind me, and we will ride the horse back 
where you left him and wait for you. I finished Little 
Chicken in no time and put him back. His mother came 
so close, I felt sure she would enter the log. The light was 
fine, so I set and focussed the camera and covered it with 
branches, attached the long hose, and went away over a 
hundred feet and hid in some bushes to wait. A short* 
stout man and a tall, dark one passed me so closely I al- 
most could have reached out and touched them. They 
carried a big saw on their shoulders. They said they 
could work until near noon, and then they must lay off 
until you passed and then try to load and get out a t nighty 
They went on — not entirely from sight — and began cutting 
a tree. Mr. McLean told me the other day what would 
probably happen here, and if they fell that tree he loses 
his wager on you. Keep to the east and north and hustle,. 
We’ll meet you at the carriage. I always am armedo 
Give Angel one of your revolvers, and you keep the other* 
We will separate and creep toward them from different 
sides and give them a fusillade that will send them flying* 
You hurry, now!” 

She lifted the reins and started briskly down the trail. 
The Angel, hatless and with sparkling eyes, was clinging 
around her waist. 

Freckles wheeled and ran. He worked his way with 


A FIGHT OCCURS 


123 


much care, dodging limbs and bushes with noiseless tread, 
and cutting as closely where he thought the men were as 
he felt that he dared if he were to remain unseen. As he 
ran he tried to think. It was Wessner, burning for his 
"<evenge, aided by the bully of the locality, that he was 
going to meet. He was accustomed to that thought but 
Hot to the complication of having two women on his hands 
who undoubtedly would have to be taken care of in spite 
of the Bird Woman’s offer to help him. His heart was 
jarring as it never had before with running. He must 
follow the Bird Woman’s plan and meet them at the car® 
riage, but if they really did intend to try to help him, he 
must not allow it. Allow the Angel to try to handle a 
revolver in his defence? Never! Not for all the trees in 
the Limberlost! She might shoot herself. She might 
forget :o watch sharply and run across a snake that was 
not particularly well behaved that morning. F reckles per- 
mitted himself a grim smile as he went speeding on. 

When he reached the carriage, the Bird Woman and the 
Angel had the horse hitched, the outfit packed, and were 
calmly waiting. The Bird Woman held a revolver in her 
hand. She wore dark clothing. They had pinned a big 
focussing cloth over the front of the Angel’s light dress. 

“Give Angel one of your revolvers, quick!” said the 
Bird Woman. “We will creep up until we are in fair 
range. The underbrush is so thick and they are so busy 
that they will never notice us, if we don’t make a noise. 
You fire first, then I will pop in from my direction, and 
then you, Angel, and shoot quite high, or else very low. 
We mustn’t really hit them. We’ll go close enough to the 


124 FRECKLES 

cowards to make it interesting, and keep it up until we 
have them going.” 

Freckles protested. 

The Bird Woman reached over, and, taking the smaller 
revolver from his belt, handed it to the Angel. “Keep 
your nerve steady, dear; watch where you step, and shoot 
high,” she said. “Go straight at them from where you 
are. Wait until you hear Freckles’ first shot, then follow 
me as closely as you can, to let them know that we out- 
number them. If you want to save McLean’s wager on 
you, now you go!” she commanded Freckles, who, with an 
agonized glance at the Angel, ran toward the east. 

The Bird Woman chose the middle distance, and for a 
last time cautioned the Angel as she moved away to lie 
down and shoot high. 

Through the underbrush the Bird Woman crept even 
more closely than she had intended, found a clear range, 
and waited for Freckles’ shot. There was one long minute 
of sickening suspense. The men straightened for breath. 
Work was difficult with a hand-saw in the heat of the 
swamp. As they rested, the big dark fellow took a bottle 
from his pocket and began oiling the saw. 

“We got to keep mighty quiet,” he said, “and wait to 
fell it until that damned guard has gone to his dinner.” 

Again they bent to their work. Freckles’ revolver spat 
fire. Lead spanged on steel. The saw-handle flew from 
Wessner’s hand and he reeled from the jar of the shock. 
Black Jack straightened, uttering a fearful oath. The 
hat sailed from his head from the far northeast. The 
Angel had not waited for the Bird Woman, and her shot 


A FIGHT OCCURS 125 

scarcely could have been called high. At almost the same 
instant the third shot whistled from the east. Black 
Jack sprang into the air with a yell of complete panic, for 
it ripped a heel from his boot. Freckles emptied his sec- 
ond chamber, and the earth spattered over Wessner. 
Shots poured in rapidly. Without even reaching for a 
weapon, both men ran toward the east road in great leap- 
ing bounds, while leaden slugs sung and hissed around 
them in deadly earnest. 

Freckles was trimming his corners as closely as he 
dared, but if the Angel did not really intend to hit, she was 
taking risks in a scandalous manner. 

When the men reached the trail, Freckles yelled at the 
top of his voice: “Head them off on the south, boys! 
Fire from the south !” 

As he had hoped, Jack and Wessner instantly plunged 
into the swale. A spattering of lead followed them. They 
crossed the swale, running low, with not even one back- 
ward glance, and entered the woods beyond the corduroy. 

Then the ?*ttle party gathered at the tree. 

“I’d better fix this saw so they can’t be using it if they 
come back,” said Freckles, taking out his hatchet and 
making saw-teeth fly. 

“Now we must leave here without being seen,” said the 
Bird Woman to the Angel. “It won’t do for me to make 
enemies of these men, for I am likely to meet them while at 
work any day.” 

“You can do it by driving straight north on this road,” 
said Freckles. “I will go ahead and cut the wires for you. 
The swale is almost dry. You will only be sinking a 


*26 


FRECKLES 


little. In a few rods you will strike a corr-held. I will 
take down the fence and let you into that. Follow th^ 
furrows and drive straight across it until you come to the 
other side. Be following the fence south until you come 
to a road through the woods east of it. Then take that 
road and follow east until you reach the pike. You will 
come out on your way back to town, and two miles north 
of anywhere they are likely to be. Don’t for your lives 
ever let it out that you did this,” he earnestly cautioned; 
"for it’s black enemies you would be making.” 

Freckles clipped the wires and they drove through. 
The Angel leaned from the carriage and held out his 
revcVer. Freckles looked at her in surprise. Her eyes 
were black, while her face was a deeper rose than usual* 
He felt that his own was white. 

“Did I shoot high enough?” she asked sweetly. “I 
really forgot about lying down.” 

Freckles winced. Did the child know how close she 
had gone? Surely she could not! Or war it possible that 
she had the nerve and skill to fire like that purposely? 

“I will send the first reliable man I meet for McLean/' 
said the Bird Woman, gathering up the lines. “If I don’t 
meet one when we reach town, we will send a messenger. 
If it wasn’t for having the gang see me, I would go myself; 
but I will promise you that you will have help in a little 
over two hours. You keep well hidden. They must 
think some of the gang is with you now. There isn’t a 
chance that they will be back, but don’t run any risks 
Remain under cover. If they should come, it probably 
would be for their saw,” She laughed as at a fine joke 


CHAPTER VII 


Wherein Freckles Wins Honour and Finds 
Footprint on the Trail 








CHAPTER VII 


Wherein Freckles Wins Honour and Finds a 
Footprint on the Trail 

R OUND-EYED, Freckles watched the Bird Woman 
and the Angel drive away. After they were from 
^ sight and he was safely hidden amongthebranches 
of a small tree, he remembered that he neither had thanked 
them nor said good-bye. Considering what they had been 
through, they never would come again. His heart sank 
until he had palpitation in his wading-boots. 

Stretching the length of the limb, he thought deeply, 
though he was not thinking of Black Jack or Wessner. 
Would the Bird Woman and the Angel come again? No 
other woman whom he ever had known would. But did 
they resemble any other women he ever had known? He 
thought of the Bird Woman’s unruffled face and the Angel’s 
revolver practice, and presently he was not so sure that 
they would not return. 

What were the people in the big world like? His 
knowledge was so very limited. There had been people a 
the Home, who exchanged a stilted, perfunctory kindness 
for their salaries. The visitors who called on receiving 
days he had divided into three classes: the psalm-singmg 
kind, who came with a tear in the eye and hypocrisy 
in every feature of their faces; the kind who dressed 


i?9 


FRECKLES 


130 

in silks and jewels, and handed to those poor, little mother- 
hungry souls worn toys that their children no longer cared 
for, in exactly the same spirit in which they pitched bis- 
cuits to the monkeys at the “zoo,” and for the same reason 
— to see how they would take them and be amused by 
what they would do; and the third class, whom he con- 
sidered real people. They made him feel they cared that 
he was there, and that they would have been glad to see 
him elsewhere. 

Now here was another class, that had all they needed 
of the world’s best and were engaged in doing work that 
counted. They had things worth while to be proud of; 
and they had met him as a son and brother. With them 
he could, for the only time in his life, forget the lost hand 
that every day tortured him with a new pang. What kind 
of people were they and where did they belong among the 
classes he knew? He failed to decide, because he never 
had known others similar to them; but how he loved them! 

In the world where he was going soon, were the majority 
like them, or were they of the hypocrite and bun-throwing 
classes? 

He had forgotten the excitement of the morning and th$ 
passing of time when distant voices aroused him, and he 
gently lifted his head. Nearer and nearer they came, and 
as the heavy wagons rumbled down the east trail he could 
hear them plainly. The gang were shouting themselves 
hoarse for the Limberlost Guard. Freckles did not feel 
that he deserved it. He would have given much to be able 
to go to the men and explain, but to McLean only could he 
tell his story. 


WINS HONOUR 


131 

At the sight of Freckles the men threw up their hats and 
cheered. McLean shook hands with him warmly, but big 
Duncan gathered him into his arms and hugged him as a 
bear and choked ovei a few words of praise. The gang 
drove in and finished felling the tree. McLean was angry 
beyond measure at this attempt on his property, for in 
their haste to fell the tree the thieves had cut too high and 
wasted a foot and a half of valuable timber. 

When the last wagon rolled away, McLean sat on the 
stump and Freckles told the story he was aching to tell. 
The Boss scarcely could believe his senses. Also, he was 
much disappointed. 

“ I have been almost praying all the way over, Freckles / 8 
he said, “that you w 7 ould have some evidence by which we 
could arrest those fellows and get them out of our way, but 
this wdll never do. We can’t mix up those women in it. 
They have helped you save me the tree and my wager as 
well. Going across the country as she does, the Bird Wo- 
man never could be expected to testify against them/’ 

“No, indeed; nor the Angel, either, sir,” said Freckles* 

“The Angel?” queried the astonished McLean. 

The Boss listened in silence wdiile Freckles told of the 
coming and christening of the Angel. 

“I know her father well,” said McLean at last, “and I 
have often seen her. You are right; she is a beautiful 
young girl, and she appears to be utterfy free from the least 
particle of false pride or foolishness. I do not understand 
why her father risks such a jewel in this place.” 

“He’s daring it because she is a jewel, sir,” said Freckles, 
eagerly. “Why, she’s trusting a rattlesnake to rattle be= 


FRECKLES 


132 

fore k strikes her, and of course, she thinks she can trust 
mankind as well. The man isn't made who wouldn’t lay 
down the life cf him for her. She doesn’t need any care. 
Her face and the pretty ways of her are all the protection 
she would need in a band of howling savages.” 

“Did you say she handled one of the revolvers?” asked 
McLean. 

“She scared all the breath out of me body,” admitted 
Freckles. “ Seems that her father has taught her to shoot. 
The Bird Woman told her distinctly to lie low and blaze 
away high, just to help scare them. The spunky little 
thing followed them right out into the west road, spitting 
lead like hail, and clipping all around the heads and heels 
of them; and I’m damned, sir, if I believe she’d cared a rap 
if she’d hit. I never saw much shooting, but if that wasn’t 
the nearest to miss I ever want to see! Scared the life 
near out of me body with the fear that she’d drop one of 
them. As long as I’d no one to help me but a couple of 
women that didn’t dare be mixed up in it, all I could do 
was to let them get away.” 

“Now, will they come back?” asked McLean. 

“Of course!” said Freckles. “They’re not going to be 
taking that. You could stake your life on it, they’ll be 
coming back. At least, Black Jack will. Wessner may 
not have the pluck, unless he is half drunk. Then he’d be 

a terror. And the next time ” Freckles hesitated. 

* “What?” 

“It will be aquestionof who shoots first andstraightest.” 

“Then the only thing for me to do is to double the 
guard and bring the gang here the first minute possible. 


WINS HONOUR 


*33 

As soon as I feel that we have the rarest of the stuff out 
below, we will come. The fact is, in many cases, until it is 
felled it’s difficult to tell what a tree will prove to be. It 
won’t do to leave you here longer alone. Jack has been 
shooting twenty years to your one, and it stands to reason 
that you are no match for him. Who of the gang would 
you like best to have with you?” 

“No one, sir,” said Freckles, emphatically. “Next 
time is where I run. I won’t try to fight them alone. I’ll 
just be getting wind of them, and then make tracks for you. 
I’ll need to come like lightning, and Duncan has no extra 
horse, so I’m thinking you’d best get me one — or perhaps 
a wheel would be better. I used to do extra work for the 
Home doctor, and he would let me take his bicycle to ride 
around the place. And at times the head nurse would 
loan me his for an hour. A wheel would cost less and be 
faster than a horse, and would take less care. I believe, if 
you are going to town soon, you had best pick up any kind 
of an old one at some second-hand store, for if I’m ever 
called to use it in a hurry there won’t be the handlebars 
left after crossing the corduroy.” 

“Yes,” said McLean; “and if you didn’t have a first- 
class wheel, you never could cross the corduroy on it at all.” 

As they walked to the cabin, McLean insisted on another 
guard, but Freckles was stubbornly set on fighting his 
battle alone. He made one mental condition. If the 
Bird Woman was going to give up the Little Chicken 
series, he would yield to the second guard, solely for the 
sake of her work and the presence of the Angel in the 
Limberlost. He did not propose to have a second man 


FRECKLES 


134 

unless it were absolutely necessary, for he had been alone 
so long that he loved the solitude, his chickens, and flowers. 
The thought of having a stranger to all his ways come and 
meddle with his arrangements, frighten his pets, pull his 
flowers, and interrupt him when he wanted to study, so 
annoyed him that he was blinded to his real need for help. 

With McLean it was a case of letting his sober, better 
judgment be overridden by the boy he was growing so to 
love that he could not endure to oppose him, and to have 
Freckles keep his trust and win alone meant more than any 
money the Boss might lose. 

The following morning McLean brought the wheel, and 
Freckles took it to the trail to test it. It was new, chain- 
less, with as little as possible to catch in hurried riding, and 
in every way the best of its kind. F reckles went skimming 
around the trail on it on a preliminary trip before he locked 
it in his case and started his minute examination of his 
line on foot. He glanced around his room as he left it, and 
then stood staring. 

On the moss before his prettiest seat lay the Angel’s hat. 
In the excitement of yesterday all of them had forgotten 
it. He went and picked it up, oh! so carefully, gazing at it 
with hungry eyes, but touching it only to carry it to his 
case, where he hung it on the shining handlebar of the 
new wheel and locked it among his treasures. Then he 
went to the trail, with a new expression on his face and a 
strange throbbing in his heart. He was not in the least 
afraid of anything that morning. He felt he was the 
veriest Daniel, but all his lions seemed weak and harmless. 

What Black Jack’s next move would be he could not 


WINS HONOUR 


I3S 

tmagjne, but that there would be a move of some kind was 
certain. The big bully was not a man to give up his pur- 
pose, or to have the hat swept from his head with a bullet 
and bear it meekly. Moreover, Wessner would cling to 
his revenge with a Dutchman’s singleness of mind. 

Freckles tried to think connectedly, but there were too 
many places on the trail where the Angel’s footprints were 
yet visible. She had stepped in one mucky spot and left a 
sharp impression. The afternoon sun had baked it hard, 
and the horses' hoofs had not obliterated any part of it, as 
they had in so many places. Freckles stood fascinated, 
gazing at it. He measured it lovingly with his eye. He 
would not have ventured a caress on her hat any more 
than on her person, but this was different. Surely a foot- 
print on a trail might belong to any one who found and 
wanted it. He stooped under the wires and entered the 
swamp. With a little searching, he found a big piece of 
thick bark loose on a log and carefully peeling it, carried 
it out and covered the print so that the first rain would 
not obliterate it. 

When he reached his room, he tenderly laid the hat upon 
his book-shelf, and to wear off his awkwardness, mounted 
his wheel and went spinning on trail again. It was like 
flying, for the path was worn smooth with his feet and 
baked hard with the sun almost all the way. When he 
came to the bark, he veered far to one side and smiled at 
it in passing. Suddenly he was off the wheel, kneeling 
beside it. He removed his hat, carefully lifted the bark, 
and gazed lovingly at the imprint. 

“I wonder what she was going to say of me voice,’’ he 


FRECKLES 


136 

whispered. “She never got it said, but from the face of 
her, I believe she was liking it fairly well. Perhaps she 
was going to say that singing was the big thing I was to be 
doing. That’s what they all thought at the Home. Well, 
if it is, I’ll just shut me eyes, think of me little room, the 
face of her watching, and the heart of her beating, and 
I’ll raise them. Damn them, if singing will do it, I'll raise 
them from the benches!” 

With this dire threat, Freckles knelt, as at a wayside 
spring, and deliberately laid his lips on the footprint. 
Then he arose, appearing as if he had been drinking at the 
fountain of gladness. 


CHAPTER VIII 


Wherein Freckles Meets a Man of Affairs and 
Loses Nothing by the Encounter 






CHAPTER VIII 


Wherein Freckles Meets a Man of Affairs and 
Loses Nothing by the Encounter 

W EEL, I be drawed on!” exclaimed Mrs. Dun- 
can. 

Freckles stood before her, holding the Angel's 

hat. 

“I’ve been thinking this long time that ye or Duncan 
would see that sunbonnets werena braw enough for a 
woman of my standing, and ye’re a guid laddie to bring 
me this beautiful hat.” 

She turned it around, examining the weave of the straw 
and the foliage trimmings, passing her rough fingers over 
the satin ties delightedly. As she held it up, admiring it. 
Freckles’ astonished eyes saw a new side of Sarah Duncan. 
She was jesting, but under the jest the fact loomed strong 
that, though poor, overworked, and with none but God« 
given refinement, there was something in her soul crying 
after that bit of feminine finery, and it made his heart 
ache for her. He resolved that when he reached the city 
he would send her a hat, if it took fifty dollars to do it. 

She lingeringly handed it back to him. 

“It’s unco guid of ye to think of me,” she said lightly, 
“but I maun question your taste a wee. D’ye no think 
ye had best return this and get a woman with half her hair 
130 


FRECKLES 


140 

gray a little plainer head-dress? Seems like that’s far 
ower gay for me. I’m no’ saying that it’s no’ exactly 
what Fd like to hae, but I mauna mak mysel’ ridiculous. 
Ye’d best give this to somebody young and pretty, say 
about sixteen. Where did ye come by it, Freckles? If 
there’s anything been dropping lately, ye hae forgotten 
to mention it.” 

“Do you see anything heavenly about that hat?” 
queried Freckles, holding it up. 

The morning breeze waved the ribbons gracefully, 
binding one around Freckles’ sleeve and the other across 
his chest, where they caught and clung as if magnetized. 

“Yes,” said Sarah Duncan. “It’s verra plain and 
simple, but it juist makes ye feel that it’s all of the finest 
stuff. It’s exactly what I’d call a heavenly hat.” 

“Sure,” said Freckles, “for it’s belonging to an Angel!” 

Then he told her about the hat and asked her what he 
should do with it. 

“Take it to her, of course!” said Sarah Duncan. “Like 
it’s the only ane she has and she may need it badly.” 

Freckles smiled. He had a clear idea about the hat 
being the only one the Angel had. However, there was a 
thing he felt he should do and wanted to do, but he was 
not sure. 

“You think I might be taking it home?” he said. 

“Of course ye must,” said Mrs. Duncan. “And with- 
out another hour’s delay. It’s been here two days noo, 
and she may want it, and be too busy or afraid to 
come.” 

“But how can I take it?” asked Freckles. 


MEETS A MAN 


Hi 

“Gang spinning on your wheel. Ye can do it easy in 
an hour.’ ’ 

“But in that hour, what if ?” 

“Nonsense!” interrupted Sarah Duncan. “YeVe 
watched that timber-line until ye’re grown fast to it, lad. 
Give me your boots and club and I’ll gae walk the south 
end and watch doon the east and west sides until ye come 
back.” 

“Mrs. Duncan! You never would be doing it,” cried 
Freckles. 

“Why not?” inquired she. 

“But you know you’re mortal afraid of snakes and a 
lot of other things in the swamp.” 

“I am afraid of snakes,” said Mrs. Duncan, “but likely 
they’ve gone into the swamp this hot weather. I’ll juist 
stay on the trail and watch, and ye might hurry the least 
bit. The day’s so bright it feels like storm. I can put 
the bairns on the woodpile to play until I get back. Ye 
gang awa and take the blessed little angel her beautiful 
hat.” 

“Are you sure it will be all right?” urged Freckles. 
“ Do you think if Mr. McLean came he would care ? ” 

“Na,” said Mrs. Duncan; “I dinna. If ye and me 
agree that a thing ought to be done, and I watch in your 
place, why, it’s bound to be all right with McLean. Let 
me pin the hat in a paper, and ye jump on your wheel and 
gang flying. Ought ye put on your Sabbath-day clothes ?” 

Freckles shook his head. He knew what he should 
do, but there was no use in taking time to try to explain it 
to Mrs. Duncan while he was so hurried. He exchanged 


FRECKLES 


142 

his wading-boots for shoes, gave her his club, and went 
spinning toward town. He knew very well where the 
Angel lived. He had seen her home many times, and he 
passed it again without even raising his eyes from the 
street, steering straight for her father’s place of business. 

Carrying the hat, Freckles passed a long line of clerks, 
and at the door of the private office asked to see the pro- 
prietor. When he had waited a moment, a tall, spare, 
keen-eyed man faced him, and in brisk, nervous tones 
asked: “How can I serve you, sir?” 

Freckles handed him the package and answered, “By 
delivering to your daughter this hat, which she was after 
leaving at me place the other day, when she went away in a 
hurry. And by saying to her and the Bird Woman that 
I’m more thankful than I’ll be having words to express for 
the brave things they was doing for me. I’m McLean’s 
Limberlost guard, sir.” 

“Why don’t you take it yourself?” questioned the Man 
of Affairs. 

Freckles’ clear gray eyes met those of the Angel’s father! 
squarely, and he asked: “If you were in my place, would 
you take it to her yourself?” 

“No, I would not,” said that gentleman quickly. 

“Then why ask why I did not?” came Freckles’ lamb- 
like query. 

“Bless me!” said the Angel’s father. He stared at the 
package, then at the lifted chin of the boy, and then at the 
package again, and muttered, “Excuse me!” 

Freckles bowed. 

“It would be favouring me greatly if you would deliver 


MEETS A MAN 


*43 

the hat and the message. Good-morning, sir,” and he 
turned away. 

“One minute,” said the Angel’s father. “Suppose I 
give you permission to return this hat in person and make 
your own acknowledgments.” 

Freckles stood one moment thinking intently, and then 
he lifted those eyes of unswerving truth and asked: “Why 
should you, sir? You are kind, indade, to mention it, 
and it’s thanking you I am for your good intintions, but 
my wanting to go or your being willing to have me ain’t 
proving that your daughter would be wanting me or care 
to bother with me.” 

The Angel’s father looked keenly into the face of 
this extraordinary young man, for he found it to his 
liking. 

“There’s one other thing I meant to say,” said Freckles, 
“Every day I see something, and at times a lot of things, 
that I think the Bird Woman would be wanting pictures 
of badly, if she knew. You might be speaking of it to her, 
and if she’d want me to, I can send her word when I find 
things she wouldn’t likely get elsewhere.” 

“If that’s the case,” said the Angel’s father, “and 
you feel under obligations for her assistance the other day, 
you can discharge them in that way. She is spending all 
her time in the fields and woods searching for subjects. 
If you run across things, perhaps rarer than she may find, 
about your work, it would save her the time she spends 
searching for subjects, and she could work in security 
under your protection. By all means let her know if 
you find subjects you think she could use, and we will do 


FRECKLES 


144 

anything we can for you, if you will give her what help 
you can and see that she is as safe as possible.” 

“It’s hungry for human beings I am,” said Freckles, 
“and it’s like Heaven to me to have them come. Of 
course, I’ll be telling or sending her word every time me 
work can spare me. Anything I can do it would make 
me uncommon happy, but” — again truth had to be told, 
because it was Freckles who was speaking — “when it 
comes to protecting them, I’d risk me life, to be sure, but 
even that mightn’t do any good in some cases. There are 
many dangers to be reckoned with in the swamp, sir, that 
call for every person to look sharp. If there wasn’t really 
thieving to guard against, why, McLean wouldn’t need be 
paying out good money for a guard. I’d love them to be 
coming, and I’ll do all I can, but you must be told that 
there’s danger of them running into timber-thieves again 
any day, sir.” 

“Yes,” said the Angel’s father, “and I suppose there’s 
danger of the earth opening up and swallowing the town 
any day, but I’m damned if I quit business for fear it will, 
and the Bird Woman won’t, either. Every one knows 
her and her work, and there is no danger in the world of 
any one in any way molesting her, even if he were stealing 
a few of McLean’s gold-plated trees. She’s as safe in 
the Limberlost as she is at home, so far as timber-thieves 
are concerned. All I am ever uneasy about are the snakes, : 
poison-vines, and insects; and those are risks she must 
run anywhere. You need not hesitate a minute about 
that. I shall be glad to tell them what you wish. Thank 
you very much, and good-day, sir.” 


MEETS A MAN 


145 

There was no way in which Freckles could know it, but 
by following his best instincts and being what he con- 
ceived a gentleman should be, he surprised the Man of 
Affairs into thinking of him and seeing his face over his 
books many times that morning; whereas, if he had gone 
to the Angel as he had longed to do, her father never 
would have given him a second thought. 

On the street he drew a deep breath. How had he ac* 
quitted himself? He only knew that he had lived up to 
his best impulse, and that is all any one can do. He 
glanced over his wheel to see that it was all right, and just 
as he stepped to the curb to mount he heard a voice 
that thrilled him through and through: “Freckles! Oh 
Freckles !” 

The Angel separated from a group of laughing sweet- 
faced girls and came hurrying to him. She was in snowy 
white — a quaint little frock, with a marvel of soft lace 
around her throat and wrists. Through the sheer sleeves 
of it her beautiful, rounded arms showed distinctly, and it 
was cut just to the base of her perfect neck. On ner head 
was a pure white creation of fancy braid, with folds on 
folds of tulle, soft and silken as cobwebs, lining the brim; 
while a mass of white roses clustered against the gold of 
her hair, crept around the crown, and fell in a riot to her 
shoulders at the back. There were gleams of gold with 
settings of blue on her fingers, and altogether she was the 
daintiest, sweetest sight he ever had seen. Freckles, stand- 
ing on the curb, forgot himself in his cotton shirt r cordu- 
roys, and his belt to which his wire-cutter and pliers were 
hanging, and gazed as a man gazes when first he sees the 


FRECKLES 


146 

woman he adores with all her charms enhanced by ap- 
propriate and beautiful clothing. 

“Oh Freckles,” she cried as she came to him. “I was 
wondering about you the other day. Do you know I 
never saw you in town before. You watch that old line so 
closely! Why did you come ? Is there any trouble? Are 
you just starting to the Limberlost ?” 

“ I came to bring your hat,” said Freckles. “You forgoi' 
it in the rush the other day. I have left it with your 
father, and a message trying to ixpriss the gratitude of me 
for how you and the Bird Woman were for helping me 
out.” 

The Angel nodded gravely, then Freckles saw that he 
had done the proper thing in going to her father. His 
heart bounded until it jarred his body, for she was saying 
that she scarcely could wait for the time to come for the 
next picture of the Little Chicken series. “I want to hear 
the remainder of that song, and I hadn’t even begun seeing 
your room yet,” she complained. “As for singing, if you 
can sing like that every day, I never can get enough of it. 
I wonder if I couldn’t bring my banjo and some of the 
songs I like best. I’ll play and you sing, and we’ll put the 
birds out of commission.” 

Freckles stood on the curb with drooped eyes, for he felt 
that if he lifted them the tumult of tender adoration in 
them would show and frighten her. 

“I was afraid your ixperience the other day would scare 
you so that you’d never be coming again,” he found him- 
self saying. 

The Angel laughed gaily. 


MEETS A MAN 


147 


“Did I seem scared?” she questioned. 

“No,” said Freckles; “you did not.” 

“Oh, I just enjoyed that,” she cried. “Those hateful, 
stealing old things! I had a big notion to pink one of 
them, but I thought maybe someway it would be best for 
you that I shouldn’t. They needed it. That didn’t scare 
me; and as for the Bird Woman, she’s accustomed to find- 
| ing snakes, tramps, cross dogs, sheep, cattle, and goodness 
knows what! You can’t frighten her when she’s after a 
picture. Did they come back?” 

“No,” said Freckles. “The gang got there a little after 
noon and took out the tree, but I must tell you, and you 
must tell the Bird Woman, that there’s no doubt but 
they will be coming back, and they will have to make it be- 
fore long now, for it’s soon the gang will be there to work 
on the swamp.” 

“Oh, what a shame!” cried the Angel. “They’ll clear 
out roads, cut down the beautiful trees, and tear up every- 
thing. They’ll drive away the birds and spoil the cathe- 
dral. When they have done their worst, then all these 
mills close here will follow in and take out the cheap tim- 
ber. Then the landowners will dig a few ditches, build 
some fires, and in two summers more the Limberlost will 
be in corn and potatoes.” 

They looked at each other, and groaned despairingly in. 
unison. 

“You like it, too,” said Freckles. 

“Yes,” said the Angel; “I love it. Your room is a little 
piece right out of the heart of fairy-land, and the cathedral 
*s God’s work, not yours. You only found it and opened 


FRECKLES 


148 

the door after He had it completed. The birds, flowers, 
and vines are all so lovely. The Bird Woman says it is 
really a fact that the mallows, foxfire, iris, and lilies are 
larger and of richer colouring there than in the remainder 
of the country. She says it’s because of the rich loam and 
muck. I hate seeing the swamp torn up, and to you it will 
be like losing your best friend; won’t it?” 

“Something like,” said Freckles. “Still, IVe the Lim- 
berlost in me heart so that all of it will be real to me while I 
live, no matter what they do to it. I’m glad past telling if 
you will be coming a few more times, at least until the 
gang arrives. Past that time I don’t allow mesilf to be 
thinking.” 

“Come, have a cool drink before you start back,” said 
the Angel. 

“I couldn’t possibly,” said Freckles. “I left Mrs. Dun- 
can on the trail, and she’s terribly afraid of a lot of things. 
If she even sees a big snake, I don’t know what she’ll do.’ fc 

“It won’t take but a minute, and you can ride fast 
enough to make up for it. Please. I want to think 0} 
something fine for you, to make up a little for what you did 
for me that first day.” 

Freckles looked in sheer wonderment into the beautiful 
face of the Angel. Did she truly mean it? Would she 
walk down that street with him, crippled, homely, in mean 
clothing, with the tools of his occupation on him, and 
share with him the treat she was offering? He could not 
believe it, even of the Angel. Still, in justice to the can- 
dour of her pure, sweet face, he would not think that she 
would make the offer and not mean it. She really did 


MEETS A MAN 


149 

mean just what she said, but when it came to carrying out 
her offer and he saw the stares of her friends, the sneers of 
her enemies — if such as she could have enemies — and 
heard the whispered jeers of the curious, then she would 
see her mistake and be sorry. It would be only a manly 
thing for him to think this out, and save her from the re- 
sults of her own blessed bigness of heart. 

“I railly must be off,” said Freckles earnestly, “but Fm 
thanking you more than you’ll ever know for your kind- 
ness. Fll just be drinking bowls of icy things all me way 
home in the thoughts of it.” 

Down came the Angel’s foot. Her eyes flashed in- 
dignantly. “There’s no sense in that,” she said. “How 
do you think you would have felt when you knew I was 
warm and thirsty and you went and brought me a drink 
and I wouldn’t take it because — because goodness knows 
why! You can ride faster to make up for the time. I’ve 
just thought out what I want to fix for you.” 

She stepped to his side and deliberately slipped her hand 
under his arm — that right arm that ended in an empty 
sleeve. 

“You are coming,” she said firmly. “I won’t have it.” 

Freckles could not have told how he felt, neither could 
any one else. His blood rioted and his head swam, but he 
kept his wits. He bent over her. 

“Please don’t, Angel,” he said softly. “You don’t 
understand.” 

How Freckles came to understand was a problem. 

“It’s this,” he persisted. “If your father met me on 
the street, in my station and dress, with you on me arm* 


FRECKLES 


150 

he’d have every right to be caning me before the people, 
and not a finger would I lift to stay him. ,, 

The Angel’s eyes snapped. “If you think my father 
cares about my doing anything that is right and kind, and 
that makes me happy to do — why, then you completely 
failed in reading my father, and I’ll ask him and just show 
you.” 

She dropped Freckles’ arm and turned toward the en # 
trance to the building. “Why, look there!” she ex- 
claimed. 

Her father stood in a big window fronting the street, a 
bundle of papers in his hand, interestedly watching the 
little scene, with eyes that comprehended quite as thor- 
oughly as if he had heard every word. The Angel caught 
his glance and made a despairing little gesture toward 
Freckles. The Man of Affairs answered her with a look of 
infinite tenderness. He nodded his head and waved the 
papers in the direction she had indicated, and the veriest 
dolt could have read the words his lips formed: “Take him 
along!” 

A sudden trembling seized Freckles. At sight of the 
Angel’s father he had stepped back as far from her as he 
could, leaned the wheel against him, and snatched off his 
hat. 

The Angel turned on him with triumphing eyes. 

She was highly strung and not accustomed to being 
thwarted. “Did you see that?” she demanded. “Now 
are you satisfied ? Will you come, or must I call a police- 
man to bring you?” 

Freckles went. There was nothing else to do. Guiding 


MEETS A MAN 


IS* 

his wheel, he walked down the street beside her. On every 
hand she was kept busy giving and receiving the cheeriest 
greetings. She walked into the parlours exactly as if she 
owned them. A clerk came hurrying to meet her. 

“There’s a table vacant beside a window where it is 
cool. I’ll save it for you,” and he started back. 

“ Please not,” said the Angel. “ I’ve taken this man un- 
awares, when he’s in a rust , I’m afraid if we sit down we’ll 
•take too much time and afterward he will blame me.” 

She walked to the fountain, and a long row of people 
stared with all the varying degrees of insolence and curi- 
osity that Freckles had felt they would. He glanced at 
the Angel. Now would she see ? 

“On my soul!” he muttered under his breath. “They 
don’t aven touch her!” 

She laid down her sunshade and gloves. She walked to 
| the end of the counter and turned the full battery of her 
! eyes on the attendant. 

“Please,” she said. 

The white-aproned individual stepped back and gave 
| delighted assent. The Angel stepped beside him, and 
selecting a tall, flaring glass, of almost paper thinness, she 
stooped and rolled it in a tray of cracked ice. 

“I want to mix a drink for my friend,” she said. “He 
has a long, hot ride before him, and I don’t want him 
started off* with one of those old palate-teasing sweetnesses 
i that you mix just on purpose to drive a man back in ten 
minutes.” There was an appreciative laugh from the line 
at the counter. 

“I want a clear, cool, sparkling drink that has a tang of 


FRECKLES 


152 

acid in it. Where’s the cherry phosphate? That, not at 
all sweet, would be good; don’t you think?” 

The attendant did think. He pointed out the different 
taps, and the Angel compounded the drink, while Freckles, 
standing so erect he almost leaned backward, gazed at her 
and paid no attention to any one else. When she had the 
glass brimming, she tilted a little of its contents into a 
second glass and tasted it. 

“That’s entirely too sweet for a thirsty man,” she said. 
She poured out half the mixture, and refilling the glass, 
tasted it a second time. She submitted that result to the 
attendant. “Isn’t that about the thing?” she asked 

He replied enthusiastically: “I’d get my wages raised 
ten a month if I could learn that trick.” 

The Angel carried the brimming, frosty glass to Freckles. 
He removed his hat, and lifting the icy liquid even with her 
eyes and looking straight into them, he said in the mellow- 
est of all the mellow tones of his voice: “I’ll be drinking it 
to the Swamp Angel.” 

As he had said to her that first day, she now cautioned 
him: “Be drinking slowly.” 

When the screen-door swung behind them, one of the 
men at the counter asked of the attendant: “Now, what 
did that mean?” 

“Exactly what you saw,” replied he, rather curtly. 
“We’re accustomed to it here. Hardly a day passes, this 
hot weather, but she’s picking up some poor, god-forsaken 
mortal and bringing him in. Then she comes behind the 
counter herself and fixes up a drink to suit the occasion. 
She’s all sorts of fancies about what’s what for all kinds 


MEETS A MAN 


153 

of times and conditions, and you bet she can just hit the 
spot! Ain’t a clerk here can put up a drink to touch 
her. She’s a sort of knack at it. Every once in a while, 
when the Boss sees her, he calls out to her to mix him a 
drink.” 

“And does she?” asked the man with an interested 
grin. 

“Well, I guess! But first she goes back and sees how 
long it is since he’s had a drink. What he drank last. 
How warm he is. When he ate last. Then she comes 
here and mixes a glass of fizz with a little touch of acid, 
and a bit of cherry, lemon, grape, pineapple, or something 
sour and cooling, and it hits the spot just as no spot was 
ever hit before. I honestly believe that the interest she 
takes in it is half the trick, for I watch her closely and I 
can’t come within gun-shot of her concoctions. She has a 
running bill here. Her father settles once a month. She 
gives nine-tenths of it away. Hardly ever touches it her- 
self, but when she does she makes me mix it. She’s just 
old persimmons. Even the scrub-boy of this establish- 
ment would fight for her. It lasts the year round, for in 
winter it’s some poor, frozen cuss that she’s warming up 
on hot poffee or chocolate.” 

“Mighty queer specimen she had this time,” volun- 
teered another. “Irish, hand off, straight as a ramrod, 
and something worth while in his face. Notice that hat 
peel off, and the eyes of him? There’s a case of ‘fight for 
her!’ Wonder who he is?” 

“I think,” said a third, “that he’s McLean’s Limber- 
lost guard, and I suspect she’s gone to the swamp with the 


FRECKLES 


*54 

Bird Woman for pictures and knows him that way. I’ve 
heard that he is a master hand with the birds, and that 
would just suit the Bird Woman to a T.” 

On the street the Angel walked beside Freckles to the 
first crossing and there she stopped. “Now, will you 
promise to ride fast enough to make up for the five minutes 
that took?” she asked. “I am a little uneasy about Mrs. 
Duncan.” 

Freckles turned his wheel into the street. It seemed to 
him he had poured that delicious icy liquid into every vein 
in his body instead of his stomach. It even went to his 
brain. 

“Did you insist on fixing that drink because you knew 
how intoxicating ’twould be?” he asked. 

There was subtlety in the compliment and it delighted 
the Angel. She laughed gleefully. 

“Next time, maybe you won’t take so much coaxing,” 
she teased. 

“I wouldn’t this, if I had known your father and been 
understanding you better. Do you really think the Bird 
Woman will be coming again?” 

The Angel jeered. “Wild horses couldn’t drag her 
away,” she cried. “ She will have hard work to wait the 
week out. I shouldn’t be in the least surprised to see her 
start any hour.” 

Freckles could not endure the suspense; it had to come. 

“And you?” he questioned, but he dared not lift his 
eyes. 

“Wild horses me, too,” she kaghed, “couldn’t keep me 
away either! I dearly love to come, and the next time I 


MEETS A MAN 


155 

am going to bring my banjo, and HI play, and you sing for 
me some of the songs I like best; won’t you?” 

“Yis,” said Freckles, because it was all he was capable 
of saying just then. 

“ It’s beginning to act stormy,” she said. “ If you hurry 
you will just about make it. Now, good-bye.” 



CHAPTER IX 


Wherein the Limberlost Falls upon Mrs. Dun. 
can and Freckles Comes to the Rescue 









CHAPTER IX 


Wherein the Limberlost Falls upon Mrs. Duncan 
and Freckles Comes to the Rescue 

RECKLES was half-way to the Limberlost when 



he dismounted. He could ride no farther, be- 


cause he could not see the road. He sat under a 


tree, and, leaning against it, sobs shook, twisted, and rent 
him. If they would remind him of his position, speak 
condescendingly, or notice his hand, he could endure it, 
but this — it surely would kill him! His hot, pulsing Irish 
blood was stirred deeply. What did they mean? Why 
did they do it? Were they like that to every one? Was 
it pity? 

It could not be, for he knew that the Bird Woman and 
the Angel's father must know that he was not really 
McLean's son, and it did not matter to them in the least. 
In spite of accident and poverty, they evidently expected 
him to do something worth while in the world. That 
must be his remedy. He must work on his education. 
He must get away. He must find and do the great thing 
of which the Angel talked. For the first time, his thoughts 
turned anxiously toward the city and the beginning of his 
studies. McLean and the Duncans spoke of him as “the 
boy," but he was a man. He must face life bravely and 
act a man's part. The Angel was a mere child. He must 


i6o 


FRECKLES 


not allow her to torture him past endurance with her 
frank comradeship that meant to him high heaven, earth’s 
richness, and all that lay between, and nothing to her. 

There was an ominous growl of thunder, and amazed 
at himself, Freckles snatched up his wheel and raced 
toward the swamp. He was worried to find his boots 
lying at the cabin door; the children playing on the wood- 
pile told him that “mither” said they were so heavy she 
couldn’t walk in them, and she had come back and taken 
them off. Thoroughly frightened, he stopped only long 
enough to slip them on, and then sped with all his strength 
for the Limberlost. To the west, the long, black, hard- 
beaten trail lay clear; but far up the east side, straight 
across the path, he could see what was certainly a limp, 
brown figure. Freckles spun with all his might. 

Face down, Sarah Duncan lay across the trail. When 
Freckles turned her over, his blood chilled at the look of 
horror settled on her face. There was a low humming 
and something spatted against him. Glancing around. 
Freckles shivered in terror, for there was a sw T arm of wild 
bees settled on a scrub-thorn only a few yards away. The 
air was filled with excited, unsettled bees making ready to 
lead farther in search of a suitable location. Then he 
thought he understood, and with a prayer of thankfulness 
in his heart that she had escaped, even so narrowly, he 
caught her up and hurried down the trail until they were 
well out of danger. He laid her in the shade, and carrying 
water from the swamp in the crown of his hat, he bathed 
her face and hands; but she lay in unbroken stillness* 
without a sign of life. 


TO THE RESCUE 


161 


She had found Freckles’ boots so large and heavy that 
she had gone back and taken them off, although she was 
mortally afraid to approach the swamp without them. 
The thought of it made her nervous, and the fact that she 
never had been there alone added to her fears. She had 
not followed the trail many rods when her trouble began. 
She was not Freckles, so not a bird of the line was going to 
be fooled into thinking she was. 

They began jumping from their nests and darting from 
unexpected places around her head and feet, with quick 
whirrs, that kept her starting and dodging. Before 
Freckles was half-way to the town, poor Mrs. Duncan was 
hysterical, and the Limberlost had neither sung nor per- 
formed for her. 

But there was trouble brewing. It was quiet and in- 
tensely hot, with that stifling stillness that precedes a sum- 
mer storm, and feathers and fur were tense and nervous. 
The birds were singing only a few broken snatches, and 
flying around, seeking places of shelter. One moment 
everything seemed devoid of life, the next there was an 
unexpected whirr, buzz, and sharp cry. Inside, a pande- 
monium of growling, spatting, snarling, and grunting broke 
loose. 

The swale bent flat before heavy gusts of wind, and the 
big black chicken swept lower and lower above the swamp. 
Patches of clouds gathered, shutting out the sun and mak- 
ing it very dark, and the next moment were swept away. 
The sun poured with fierce, burning brightness, and every- 
thing was quiet. It was at the first growl of thunder 
that Freckles really had noticed the weather, and 


x 62 FRECKLES 

putting his own troubles aside resolutely, raced for the 
swamp. 

Sarah Duncan paused on the line. “Weel, I wouldna 
stay in this place for a million a month/’ she said aloud, 
and the sound of her voice brought no comfort, for it was 
so little like she had thought it that she glanced hastily 
around to see if it had really been she that spoke. She 
tremblingly wiped the perspiration from her face with the 
skirt of her sunbonnet. 

“Awfu’ hot,” she panted huskily. “B’lieve there’s 
going to be a big storm. I do hope Freckles will hurry.” 

Her chin was quivering as a terrified child’s. She 
lifted her bonnet to replace it and brushed against a bush 
beside her. Whirr , almost into her face, went a night- 
hawk stretched along a limb for its daytime nap. Mrs* 
Duncan cried out and sprang down the trail, alighting on a 
frog that was hopping across. Trie horrible croak it gave 
as she crushed it sickened her. She screamed wildly and 
jumped to one side. That carried her into the swale, 
where the grasses reached almost to her waist, and her 
horror of snakes returning, she made a flying leap for an 
old log lying beside the line. She alighted squarely, but 
it was so damp and rotten that she sank straight through 
it to her knees. She caught at the wire as she went down, 
and missing, raked her wrist across a barb until she tore a 
bleeding gash. Her fingers closed convulsively around the 
second strand. She was too frightened to scream now. 
Her tongue stiffened. She clung frantically to the sagging 
wire, and finally managed to grasp it with the other hand. 
Then she could reach the top wire, and so she drew herself 


TO THE RESCUE 


103 


up and found solid footing. She picked up the club that 
she had dropped in order to extricate herself. Leaning 
heavily on it, she managed to return to the trail, but she 
was trembling so that she scarcely could walk. Going a 
few steps farther, she came to the stump of the first tree 
that had been taken out. 

She sat bolt upright and very still, trying to collect her 
thoughts and reason away her terror. A squirrel above 
her dropped a nut, and as it came rattling down, bouncing 
from branch to branch, every nerve in her tugged wildly. 
When the disgusted squirrel barked loudly, she sprang to 
the trail. 

The wind arose higher, the changes from light to dark- 
ness were more abrupt, while the thunder came closer and 
iouder at every peal. In swarms the blackbirds arose 
from the swale and came flocking to the interior, with a 
clamouring cry: “ V check, t’ check.” Grackles marshalled 
to the tribal call: “ Trall-a-hee, trall-a-hee” Red-winged 
blackbirds swept low, calling to belated mates: “ Fol-low- 
me , fol-iozv-me” Big, jetty crows gathered close to her, 
crying, as if warning her to flee before it was everlastingly 
too late. A heron, fishing the near-by pool for Freckles’ 
“find-out” frog, fell into trouble with a muskrat and 
uttered a rasping note that sent Mrs. Duncan a rod down 
the line without realizing that she had moved. She was 
too shaken to run far. She stopped and looked around her 
fearfully. 

Several bees struck her and were angrily buzzing before 
she noticed them. Then the humming swelled on all 
sides. A convulsive sob shook her, and she ran into the 


FRECKLES 


164 

bushes, now into the swale, anywhere to avoid the swarm* 
ing bees, ducking, dodging, fighting for her very life. 
Presently the humming seemed to become a little fainter. 
She found the trail again, and ran with all her might from a 
few of her angry pursuers. 

As she ran, straining every muscle, she suddenly became 
aware that, crossing the trail before her, was a big, round, 
black body, with brown markings on its back, like painted 
geometrical patterns. She tried to stop, but the louder 
buzzing behind warned her she dared not. Gathering her * 
skirts higher, with hair flying around her face and her eyes ■ 
almost bursting from their sockets, she ran straight toward 
it. The sound of her feet and the humming of the bees 
alarmed the rattler, so it stopped across the trail, lifting its 
head above the grasses of the swale and rattling, inquiringly 
— rattled until the bees were outdone. 

Straight toward it went the panic-stricken woman, run* 
ning wildly and uncontrollably. She took one leap, clear- 
ing its body on the path, then flew ahead with winged feet. i 
The snake, coiled to strike, missed Mrs. Duncan and 
landed among the bees instead. They settled over and 
around it, and realizing that it had found trouble, it sank 
among the grasses and went threshing toward its den in the 
deep willow-fringed low ground. The swale appeared as 
if a reaper were cutting a wide swath. The mass of en- 
raged bees darted angrily around, searching for it, and strik* 
ing the scrub-thorn, began a temporary settling there to 
discover whether it were a suitable place. Completely ex- 
hausted, Mrs. Duncan staggered on a few steps farther, fell 
facing the path, where Freckles found her, and lay quietly. 


TO THE RESCUE 165 

Freckles worked over her until she drew a long, quiver- 
ing breath and opened her eyes. 

When she saw him bending above her, she closed them 
tightly, and gripping him, struggled to her feet. He helped 
her, and with his arm around and half carrying her, they 
made their way to the clearing. She clung to him with all 
her remaining strength, but open her eyes she would not 
until her children came clustering around her. Then, 
brawny, big Scotswoman though she was, she quietly 
keeled over again. The children added their wailing to 
Freckles’ panic. 

This time he was so close the cabin that he could carry 
her into the house and lay her on the bed. He sent the 
oldest boy scudding down the corduroy for the nearest 
neighbour, and between them they undressed Mrs. Duncan 
and discovered that she was not bitten. They bathed and 
bound the bleeding wrist and coaxed her back to con- 
sciousness. She lay sobbing and shuddering. The first 
intelligent word she said was: “Freckles, look at that jar 
on the kitchen table and see if my yeast is no running 
ower.” 

Several days passed before she could give Duncan and 
Freckles any detailed account of what had happened to 
her, even then she could not do it without crying as the 
least of her babies. Freckles was almost heartbroken, and 
nursed her as well as any woman could have done; while 
big Duncan, with a heart full for them both, worked early 
and late to chink every crack of the cabin and examine 
every spot that possibly could harbour a snake. The 
effects of her morning on the trail kept her shivering half 


1 66 


FRECKLES 


the time. She could not rest until she sent for McLean 
and begged him to save Freckles from further risk, in that 
place of horrors. The Boss went to the swamp with his 
mind fully determined to do so. 

Freckles stood and laughed at him. “Why, Mr. 
McLean, don’t you let a woman’s nervous system set you 
worrying about me,” he said. “I’m not denying how she 
felt, because I’ve been through it meself, but that’s all over 
and gone. It’s the height of me glory to fight it out with 
the old swamp, and all that’s in it, or will be coming to it, 
and then to turn it over to you as I promised you and me- 
self I’d do, sir. You couldn’t break the heart of me entire 
quicker than to be taking it from me now, when I’m just on 
Tie home-stretch. It won’t be over three or four weeks 
yet, and when I’ve gone it almost a year, why, what’s that 
to me, sir? You mustn’t let a woman get mixed up with 
business, for I’ve always heard about how it’s bringing 
trouble.” 

McLean smiled. “What about that last tree?” h% 
said. 

Freckles blushed and grinned appreciatively. 

“Angels and Bird Women don’t count in the common 
run, sir,” he affirmed, shamelessly. 

McLean sat in the saddle and laughed. 


CHAPTER X 

Wherein Freckles Strives Mightily and the 
Swamp Angel Rewards Him 



CHAPTER X 


Wherein Freckles Strives Mightily and the Swamp 
Angel Rewards Him 

T HE Bird Woman and the Angel did not seem to 
count in the common run, for they arrived on time 
for the third of the series and found McLean on 
the line talking to Freckles. The Boss was filled with en- 
thusiasm over a marsh article of the Bird Woman’s that he 
just had read. He begged to be allowed to accompany her 
into the swamp and watch the method by which she se- 
cured an illustration in such a location. 

The Bird Woman explained to him that it was an easy 
matter with the subject she then had in hand; and as 
Little Chicken was too small to be frightened by him, and 
big enough to be growing troublesome, she was glad for his 
company. They went to the chicken log together, leaving 
to the happy Freckles the care of the Angel, who had 
brought her banjo and a roll of songs that she wanted to 
hear him sing. The Bird Woman told them that they 
might practise in Freckles’ room until she finished with 
Little Chicken, and then she and McLean would come to 
the concert. 

It was almost three hours before they finished and came 
down the west trail for their rest and lunch. McLean 
walked ahead, keeping sharp watch on thetrail and clearing 
169 


FRECKLES 


170 

it of fallen limbs from overhanging trees. He sent a big 
piece of bark flying into the swale, and then stopped short 
and stared at the trail. 

The Bird Woman bent forward. Together the} 
studied that imprint of the Angel’s foot. At last theii 
eyes met, the Bird Woman’s filled with astonishment, and 
McLean’s humid with pity. Neither said a word, but 
they knew. McLean entered the swale and hunted up the 
bark. He replaced it, and the Bird Woman carefully 
stepped over. As they reached the bushes at the en- 
trance, the voice of the Angel stopped them, for it was 
commanding and filled with much impatience. 

“ Freckles James Ross McLean!” she was saying, 
“You fill me with dark-blue despair! You’re singing as if 
your voice were glass and might break at any minute. 
Why don’t you sing as you did a week ago ? Answer me 
that, please.” 

Freckles smiled confusedly at the Angel, who sat on one 
of his fancy seats, playing his accompaniment on her 
banjo. , 

“You are a fraud,” she said. “Here you went last 
week and led me to think that there was the making of a 
great singer in you, and now you are singing — do you know 
how badly you are singing?” 

“Yis,” said Freckles meekly. “I’m thinking I’m too 
happy to be singing well to-day. The music don’t come 
right only when I’m lonesome and sad. The world’s for 
being all sunshine at prisint, for among you and Mr. Mc- 
Lean and the Bird Woman I’m after being that happy 
that I can’t keep me thoughts on me notes. It’s more than 


STRIVES MIGHTILY 171 

sorry I am to be disappointing you. Play it over, and I'll 
be beginning again, and this time I'll hold hard/’ 

“Well,” said the Angel, disgustedly, “it seems to me 
that if I had all the things to be proud of that you have, 
Td lift up my head and sing!” 

“And what is it IVe to be proud of, ma’am?” politely 
inquired Freckles. 

“Why, a whole worldful of things,” cried the Angel, ex- 
plosively. “For one thing, you can be good and proud 
over the way you’ve kept the timber-thieves out of this 
lease, and the trust your father has in you. You can be 
proud that you’ve never even once disappointed him or 
failed in what he believed you could do. You can be 
proud ovei the way every one speaks of you with trust 
and honour, and about how brave of heart and strong of 
body you are. I heard a big man say a few days ago that 
I the Limberlost was full of disagreeable things — positive 
dangers, unhealthful as it could be, and that since the 
memory of the first settlers it has been a rendezvous for 
runaways, thieves, and murderers. This swamp is named 
for a man that was lost here and wandered around ’til he 
starved. That man I was talking with said he wouldn’t 
take your job for a thousand dollars a month — in fact, he 
said he wouldn’t have it for any money, and you’ve never 
missed a day or lost a tree. Proud! Why, I should think 
you would just parade around about proper over that! 

“And you can always be proud that you are born an 
Irishman. My father is Irish, and if you want to see him 
get up and strut, give him a teeny opening to enlarge on his? 
race. He says that if the Irish had decent territory they’d 


FRECKLES 


172 

lead the world. |He says they’ve always been handicapped 
by lack of space and of fertile soil. He says if Ireland had 
been as big and fertile as Indiana, why, England wouldn’t 
ever have had the upper hand. She’d only be an append- 
age. Fancy England an appendage! He says Ireland has 
the finest orators and the keenest statesmen in Europe 
to-day, and when England wants to fight, with whom does 
she fill her trenches? Irishmen, of course! Ireland has 
the greenest grass and trees, the finest stones and lakes, 
and they’ve jaunting-cars. I don’t know just exactly 
what they are, but Ireland has all there are, anyway. 
They’ve a lot of great actors, and a few singers, and there 
never was a sweeter poet than one of theirs. You should 
hear my father recite ‘Dear Harp of My Country.’ He 
does it this way.” 

The Angel arose, made an elaborate old-time bow, and 
holding up the banjo, recited in clipping feet and metre, 
with rhythmic swing and a touch of brogue that was 
simply irresistible: 

“Dear harp of my country” [The Angel ardently clasped 
the banjo], 

“In darkness I found thee” [She held it to the light], 

“The cold chain of silence had hung o’er thee long” 
[She muted the strings with her rosy palm]; 

“Then proudly, my own Irish harp, I unbound thee” 
[She threw up her head and swept a ringing harmony]; 

“And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song” 
[She crashed into the notes of the accompaniment she had 
been playing for Freckles]. 

“That’s what you want to be thinking of!” she cried. 


STRIVES MIGHTILY 


173 

“Not darkness, and lonesomeness, and sadness, but ‘light, 
freedom, and song.’ I can’t begin to think off-hand of all 
the big, splendid things an Irishman has to be proud of; 
but whatever they are, they are all yours, and you are a 
part of them. I just despise that ‘ saddest-when-I-sing’ 
business. You can sing! Now you go over there and 
do it! Ireland has had her statesmen, warriors, actors, 
and poets; now you be her voice! You stand right out 
there before the cathedral door, and I’m going to come 
down the aisle playing that accompaniment, and when I 
stop in front of you — you sing!” 

The Angel’s face wore an unusual flush. Her eyes were 
flashing and she was palpitating with earnestness. 

She parted the bushes and disappeared. Freckles, 
straight and tense, stood waiting. Presently, before he 
saw she was there, she was coming down the aisle toward 
him, playing compellingly, and rifts of light were touching 
her with golden glory. Freckles stood as if transfixed. 

The cathedral was majestically beautiful, from arched 
! dome of frescoed gold, green, and blue in never-ending 
shades and harmonies, to the mosaic aisle she trod, richly 
inlaid in choicest colours, and gigantic pillars that were 
God’s handiwork fashioned and perfected through ages of 
sunshine and rain. But the fair young face and divinely 
moulded form of the Angel were His most perfect work of 
all. Never had she appeared so surpassingly beautiful. 
She was smiling encouragingly now, and as she came 
toward him, she struck the chords full and strong. 

The heart of poor Freckles almost burst with dull pain 
and his great love for her. In his desire to fulfil her es- 


FRECKLES 


*74 

pectations he forgot everything else, and when she reached 
his initial chord he was ready. He hterally burst forth: 

“Three little leaves of Irish green. 

United on one stem, 

Love, truth, and valour do they mean, 

They form a magic gem.” 

The Angel’s eyes widened curiously and her lips parted, 
A deep colour swept into her cheeks. She had intended to 
arouse him. She had more than succeeded. She was too 
young to know that in the effort to rouse a man, women 
frequently kindle fires that they neither can quench not 
control. Freckles was looking over her head now and 
singing that song, as it never had been sung before, for her 
alone; and instead of her helping him, as she had intended, 
he was carrying her with him on the waves of his voice, 
away, away into another world. When he struck into the 
chorus, wide-eyed and panting, she was swaying toward 
him and playing with all her might. 

“Oh, do you love? Oh, say you love 
You love the shamrock green!” 

At the last note, Freckles’ voice ceased and he looked at 
the Angel. He had given his best and his all. He fell on 
his knees and folded his arms across his breast. The 
Angel, as if magnetized, walked straight down the aisle 
to him, and running her fingers into the crisp masses of his 
red hair, tilted his head back and laid her lips on his fore- 
head. 

Then she stepped back and faced him. “Good boy!” 


STRIVES MIGHTILY 


i75 

she said, in a voice that wavered from the throbbing of her 
shaken heart. “Dear boy! I knew you could do it! I 
knew it was in you ! F reckles, when you go into the world, 
if you can face a big audience and sing like that, just once, 
you will be immortal, and anything you want will be 
yours.” 

“Anything!” gasped Freckles. 

“Anything,” said the Angel. 

Freckles arose, muttered something, and catching up 
his old bucket, plunged into the swamp blindly on a pre- 
tence of bringing water. The Angel walked slowly across 
the study, sat on the rustic bench, and, through narrowed 
lids, intently studied the tip of her shoe. 

On the trail the Bird Woman wheeled to McLean with a 
dumbfounded look. 

“God!” muttered he. 

At last the Bird Woman spoke. 

“Do you think the Angel knew she did that?” she asked 
j softly. 

“No,” said McLean; “I do not. But the poor boy 
knew it. Heaven help him!” 

The Bird Woman stared across the gently waving swale. 
“I don’t see how I am going to blame her,” she said at 
last. “It’s so exactly what I would have done myself.” 

“Say the remainder,” demanded McLean, hoarsely, 
“Do him justice.” 

“He was born a gentleman,” conceded the Bird Woman. 
“Fie took no advantage. He never even offered to touch 
her. Whatever that kiss meant to him, he recognized 
that it was the loving impulse of a child under stress of 


1 76 FRECKLES 

strong em&tion. He was fine and manly as any man ever 
could have been.” 

McLean lifted his hat. “Thank you,” he said simply^ 
and parted the bushes for her to enter Freckles’ room. 

It was her first visit. Before she left she sent for her 
cameras and made studies of each side of it and of the 
cathedral. She was entranced with the delicate beauty of 
the place, while her eyes kept following Freckles as if she 
could not believe that it could be his conception and work.- 

That was a happy day. The Bird Woman had brought 
a lunch, and they spread it, with Freckles’ dinner, on the 
study floor and sat, resting and enjoying themselves. But 
the Angel put her banjo into its case, silently gathered her 
music, and no one mentioned the concert. 

The Bird Woman left McLean and the Angel to clear 
away the lunch, and with Freckles examined the walls of 
his room and told him all she knew about his shrubs and 
flowers. She analyzed a cardinal-flower and showed him 
what he had wanted to know ail summer — why the bees 
buzzed ineffectually around it while the humming-birds 
found in it an ever-ready feast. Some of his specimens 
were so rare that she was unfamiliar with them, and 
with the flower-book between them they knelt, study- 
ing the different varieties. She wandered the length 
of the cathedral aisle with him, and it was at her sug- 
gestion that he lighted his altar with a row of flaming 
foxfire. 

As Freckles came to the cabin from his long day at the 
swamp he saw Mrs. Chicken sweeping to the south and 
wondered where she was going. He stepped into the 


STRIVES MIGHTILY 


177 

bright, cosy little kitchen, and as he reached down the 
wash-basin he asked Mrs. Duncan a question. 

“Mother Duncan, do kisses wash off?” 

So warm a wave swept her heart that a half-flush 
mantled her face. She straightened her shoulders and 
glanced at her hands tenderly. 

“Lord, nal Freckles,” she cried. “At least, the anes 
ye get from people ye love dinna. They dinna stay on the 
outside. They strike in until they find the centre of your 
heart and make their stopping-place there, and naething 

can take them from ye — I doubt if even death Na, 

lad, ye can be reet sure kisses dinna wash off!” 

Freckles set the basin down and muttered as he plunged 
his hot, tired face into the water, “I needn’t be afraid to be 
washing, then, for that one struck in.” 




































































CHAPTER XI 

Wherein the Butterflies Go on a Spree and 
Freckles Informs the Bird Woman 


CHAPTER XI 


Wherein the Butterflies Go on a Spree and 
Freckles Informs the Bird Woman 

I WISH,” said Freckles at breakfast one morning* 
“that I had some way to be sending a message to 
the Bird Woman. I've something at the swamp 
that I’m believing never happened before, and surely 
she'll be wanting it.” 

“What now, Freckles?” asked Mrs. Duncan. 

“Why, the oddest thing you ever heard of,” said 
Freckles; “the whole insect tribe gone on a spree. I'm 
supposing it's my doings, but it all happened by accident, 
like. You see, on the swale side of the line, right against 
me trail, there's one of these scrub wild crabtrees. Where 
the grass grows thick around it, is the finest place you ever 
conceived of for snakes. Having women about has set me 
trying to clean out those fellows a bit, and yesterday I 
noticed that tree in passing. It struck me that it would be 
a good idea to be taking it out. First I thought I’d take 
me hatchet and cut it down, for it ain’t thicker than me 
upper arm. Then I remembered how it was blooming in 
the spring and filling all the air with sweetness. The 
colouring of the blossoms is beautiful, and I hated to be 
killing it. I just cut the grass short all around it. Then 
I started at the ground, trimmed up the trunk near the 
181 


FRECKLES 


182 

height of me shoulder, and left the top spreading. That 
made it look so truly ornamental that, idle like, I chips 
off the rough places neat, and this morning, on me soul, it's 
a sight! You see, cutting off the limbs and trimming up 
the trunk sets the sap running. In this hot sun it fer- 
ments in a few hours. There isn’t much room for more 
things to crowd on that tree than there are, and to get 
drunker isn’t noways possible.” 

“Weel, I be drawed on!” exclaimed Mrs. Duncan. 
“What kind of things do ye mean, Freckles?” 

“Why, just an army of black ants. Some of them are 
sucking away like old topers. Some of them are setting 
up on their tails and hind legs, fiddling with their fore-feet 
and wiping their eyes. Some are rolling around on the 
ground, contented. There are quantities of big blue- 
bottle flies over the bark and hanging on the grasses 
around, too drunk to steer a course flying; so they just 
buzz away like flying, and all the time sitting still. The 
snake-feeders are too full to feed anything — even more sap 
to themselves. There’s a lot of hard-backed bugs— 
beetles, I guess — coloured like the brown, blue, and black 
of a peacock’s tail. They hang on until the legs of them 
are so wake they can’t stick a minute longer, and then they 
break away and fall to the ground. They just lay there 
on their backs, fably clawing air. When it wears off a bit, 
up they get, and go crawling back for more, and they so 
full they bump into each other and roll over. Some- 
times they can’t climb the tree until they wait to sober up 
a little. There’s a lot of big black-and-gold bumble-bees* 
done for entire, stumbling over the bark and rolling on 


INFORMS THE BIRD WOMAN 


183 

ground. They just lay there on their backs, rocking 
from side to side, singing to themselves like fat, happy 
babies. The wild bees keep up a steady buzzing with the 
beating of their wings. 

“The butterflies are the worst old topers of them all. 
They’re just a circus! You never saw the like of the 
beauties! They come every colour you could be naming, 
and every shape you could be thinking up. They drink 
and drink until, if I’m driving them away, they stagger 
as they fly and turn somersaults in the air. If I lave 
them alone, they cling to the grasses, shivering happy like; 
and I’m blest, Mother Duncan, if the best of them could 
be unlocking the front door with a lead-pencil, even.” 

“I never heard of anything sae surprising,” said Mrs. 
Duncan. 

“ It’s a rare sight to watch them, and no one ever made a 
picture of a thing like that before, I’m for thinking,” said 
Freckles, earnestly. 

“Na,” said Mrs. Duncan. “Ye can be pretty sure 
there didna. The Bird Woman must have word in some 
way, if ye walk the line and I walk to town and tell her. 
If ye think ye can wait until after supper, I am most sure 
ye can gang yourseF, for Duncan is coming home and he’d 
be glad to watch for ye. If he does na come, and na ane 
passes that I can send word with to-day, I really will gang 
early in the morning and tell her mysel\” 

Freckles took his lunch and went to the swamp. He 
walked and watched eagerly. He could find no trace of 
anything, yet he felt a tense nervousness, as if trouble 
might be brooding. He examined every section of the 


FRECKLES 


184 

wire, and kept watchful eyes on the grasses of the swale, in 
an effort to discover if any one had passed through them; 
but he could discover no trace of anything to justify his 
fears. 

He tilted his hat brim to shade his face and looked for his 
chickens. They were hanging almost beyond sight in the 
sky. 

“Gee!” he said. “If I only had your sharp eyes and 
convenient location now, I wouldn’t need be troubling so.” 

He reached his room and cautiously scanned the en- 
trance before he stepped in. Then he pushed the bushes 
apart with his right arm and entered, his left hand on the 
butt of his favourite revolver. Instantly he knew that 
some one had been there. He stepped to the centre of the 
room, closely scanning each wall and the floor. He could 
find no trace of a clue to confirm his belief, yet so intimate 
was he with the spirit of the place that he knew. 

How he knew he could not have told, yet he did know 
that some one had entered his room, sat on his benches, and 
walked over his floor. He was surest around the case. 
Nothing was disturbed, yet it seemed to Freckles that he 
could see where prying fingers had tried the lock. He 
stepped behind the case, carefully examining the ground 
all around it, and close beside the tree to which it was 
nailed he found a deep, fresh footprint in the spongy soil — 
a long, narrow print, that was never made by the foot of 
Wessner. His heart tugged in his breast as he mentally 
measured the print, but he did not linger, for now the 
feeling arose that he was being watched. It seemed to 
him that he could feel the eyes of some intruder at his back. 


INFORMS THE BIRD WOMAN 


* 8 $ 

fite knew he was examining things too closely: if any one 
were watching, he did not want him to know that he 
felt it. 

He took the most open way, and carried water for his 
flowers and moss as usual; but he put himself into no 
position in which he was fully exposed, and his hand was 
close his revolver constantly. Growing restive at last 
under the straui, he plunged boldly into the swamp and 
searched minutely all ; round his room, but he could not 
discover the least thing to give him further cause for 
alarm. He unlocked his case, took out his wheel, and for 
the remainder of the day he rode and watched as he never 
had before. Several times he locked the wheel and crossed 
the swamp on foot, zigzagging to cover all the space oos« 
sible. Every rod he travelled he used the caution Jiat 
sprang from knowledge of danger and the direction from 
which it probably would come. Several times he thought 
of sending for McLean, but for his life he could not make 
up his mind to do it with nothing more tangible than one 
footprint to justify him. 

He waited until he was sure Duncan woulr 1 be at home, 
if he Were coming for the night, before he went to supper. 
The first thing he saw as he crossed the swale was the big 
bays in the yard. 

There had been no one passing that day, and Duncan 
readily agreed to watch until Freckles rode to town. He 
told Duncan of the footprint, and urged him to guard 
closely. Duncan said he might rest easy, and filling his 
pipe and taking a good revolver, the big man went to the 
LimberlosC 


FRECKLES 


T86 

Freckles made himself clean and neat, and raced to 
town, but it was night and the stars were shining before he 
reached the home of the Bird Woman. From afar he 
could see that the house was ablaze with lights. The lawn 
and veranda were strung with fancy lanterns and alive 
with people. He thought his errand important, so to turn 
back never occurred to Freckles. This was all the time 
or opportunity he would have. He must see the Bird 
Woman, and see her at once. He leaned his wheel inside 
the fence and walked up the broad front entrance. As he 
neared the steps, he saw that the place was swarming with 
young people, and the Angel, with an excuse to a group 
that surrounded her, came hurrying to him. 

“Oh Freckles !” she cried, delightedly. “So you could 
come ? We were so afraid you could not ! 1 m as glad as I 

can be!” 

“I don’t understand,” said Freckles. “Were you ex- 
pecting me?” 

“Why of course!” exclaimed the Angel. “Haven’t 
you come to my party ? Didn’t you get my invitation ? I 
sent you one.” 

“By mail?” asked Freckles. 

“Yes,” said the Angel. “I had to help with the prep- 
arations, and I couldn’t find time to drive out; but I 
wrote you a letter, and told you that the Bird Woman was 
giving a party for me, and we wanted you to come, surely. 
I told them at the office to put it with Mr. Duncan’s 
mail.” 

“Then that’s likely where it is at present,” said Freckles 
“Duncan comes to town only once a week, and at times 


INFORMS THE BIRD WOMAN 


187 

not that. He’s home to-night for the first in a week. He’s 
watching an hour for me until I come to the Bird Woman 
with a bit of work I thought she’d be caring to hear about 
bad. Is she where I can see her?” 

The Angel’s face clouded. 

“What a disappointment!” she cried. “I did so want 
all my friends to know you. Can’t you stay any- 
way?” 

Freckles glanced from his wading-boots to the patent 
leathers of some of the Angel’s friends, and smiled whimsi- 
cally, but there was no danger of his ever misjudging her 
again. 

“You know I cannot, Angel,” he said. 

“I am afraid I do,” she said ruefully. “It’s too bad! 
But there is a thing I want for you more than to come to 
my party, and that is to hang on and win with your work. 
I think of you every day, and I just pray that those thieves 
are not getting ahead of you. Oh, Freckles, do watch 
closely!” 

She was so lovely a picture as she stood before him* 
ardent in his cause, that Freckles could not take his eyes 
from her to notice what her friends were thinking. If she 
did not mind, why should he? Anyway, if they really 
were the Angel’s friends, probably they were better accus® 
tomed to her ways than he. 

Her face and bared neck and arms were like the wildrose 
bloom. Her soft frock of white tulle lifted and stirred 
around her with the gentle evening air. The beautiful 
golden hair, that crept around her temples and ears as if it 
loved to cling there, was caught back and bound with broad 


188 


FRECKLES 


blue satin ribbon. There was a sash of blue at her waist, 
and knots of it catching up her draperies. 

“Must I go after the Bird Woman?” she pleaded. 

“Indade, you must,” answered Freckles, firmly. 

The Angel went away, but returned to say that the Bird 
Woman was telling a story to those inside and she could 
not come for a short time. 

“You won’t come in?” she pleaded. 

“I must not,” said Freckles. “I am not dressed to be 
among your friends, and I might be forgetting meself and 
stay too long.” 

“Then,” said the Angel, “we mustn’t go through the 
house, because it would disturb the story; but I want you 
to come the outside way to the conservatory and have some 
of my birthday lunch and some cake to take to Mrs. 
Duncan and the babies. Won’t that be fun?” 

Freckles thought that it would be more than fun, and 
followed delightedly. 

The Angel gave him a big glass, brimming with some 
icy, sparkling liquid that struck his palate as it never had 
been touched before, because a combination of frosty fruit 
juices had not been a frequent beverage with him. The 
night was warm, and the Angel most beautiful and kind. 
A triple delirium of spirit, mind, and body seized upon him 
and developed a boldness all unnatural. He slightly 
parted the heavy curtains that separated the conservatory 
from the company and looked between. He. almost 
stopped breathing. He had read of things like that, but 
be never had seen them. 

The open space seemed to stretch through half a dozen 


INFORMS THE BIRD WOMAN 


189 

rooms, all ablaze with lights, perfumed with flowers, and 
filled with elegantly dressed people. There were glimpses 
of polished floors, sparkling glass, and fine furnishings. 
From somewhere, the voice of his beloved Bird Woman 
arose and fell. 

The Angel crowded beside him and was watching also 

“ Doesn’t it look pretty ?” she whispered. 

“Do you suppose Heaven is any finer than that?” asked 
Freckles. 

The Angel began to laugh. 

“Do you want to be laughing harder than that?” 
queried Freckles. 

“A laugh is always good,” said the Angel. “A little 
more avoirdupois won’t hurt me. Go ahead.” 

“Weil than,” said Freckles, “it’s only that I feel all over 
as if I belonged there. I could wear fine clothes, and move 
over those floors, and hold -re own against the best oJ 
them.” 

“But where does my laugh come in?” demanded the 
Angel, as if she had been defrauded. 

“And you ask me where the laugh comes in, looking me 
in the face after that,” marvelled Freckles. 

“I wouldn’t be so foolish as to laugh at such a manifest 
truth as that,” said the Angel. “Any one who knows you 
even half as well as I do, knows that you are never guilty 
of a discourtesy, and you move with twice the grace of any 
man here. Why shouldn’t you feel as if you belonged 
where people are graceful and courteous?’ 

“On me soul!” said Freckles, “you are kind to b<g 
thinking it. You are doubly kind ^ be saying it.” 


FRECKLES 


190 


The curtains parted and a woman came toward them. 
Her silks and laces trailed across the polished floors. The 
lights gleamed on her neck and arms, and flashed from 
rare jewels. She was smiling brightly; and until she spoke, 
Freckles had not realized fully that it was his loved Bird 
Woman. 

Noticing his bewilderment, she cried: “Why, Freckles! 
Don’t you know me in my war clothes?” 

“I do in the uniform in which you fight the Limber- 
lost,” said Freckles. 

The Bird Woman laughed. Then he told her why he 
had come, but she scarcely could believe him. She could 
not say exactly when she would go, but she would make it 
as soon as possible, for she was most anxious for the study. 

While they talked, the Angel was busy packing a box of 
sandwiches, cake, fruit, and flowers. She gave him a last 
frosty glass, thanked him repeatedly for bringing news of 
new material; then Freckles went into the night. He rode 
toward the Limberlost with his eyes on the stars. Pres- 
ently he removed his hat, hung it to his belt, and ruffled his 
hair to the sweep of the night wind. He filled the air all 
the way with snatches of oratorios, gospel hymns, and 
dialect and coon songs, in a startlingly varied programme. 
The one thing Freckles knew that he could do was to sing. 
The Duncans heard him coming a mile up the corduroy 
and could not believe their senses. Freckles unfastened 
the box from his belt, and gave Mrs. Duncan and the 
children all the eatables it contained, except one big piece 
of cake that he carried to the sweet-loving Duncan. He 
T^ut the flowers back in the box and set it among his books 


INFORMS THE BIRD WOMAN 


191 

He did not say anything, but they understood it was not to 
be touched. 

“Thae’s Freckles’ flow’rs,” said a tiny Scotsman, “but,’ 8 
he added cheerfully, “it’s oor sweeties!” 

Freckles’ face slowly flushed as he took Duncan’s cake 
and started toward the swamp. While Duncan ate, 
Freckles told him something about the evening, as well as 
he could find words to express himself, and the big man 
was so amazed he kept forgetting the treat in his hands. 

Then Freckles mounted his wheel and began a spin that 
terminated only when the biggest Plymouth Rock in 
Duncan’s coop saluted a new day, and long lines of light 
reddened the east. As he rode he sang, while he sang he 
worshipped, but the god he tried to glorify was a dim and 
far-away mystery. The Angel was warm flesh and blood. 

Every time he passed the little bark-covered imprint on 
the trail he dismounted, removed his hat, solemnly knelt 
and laid his lips on the impression. Because he kept nt? 
account himself, only the laughing-faced old man of the 
moon knew how often it happened; and as from the be* 
ginning, to the follies of earth that gentleman has evet 
been kind. 

With the near approach of dawn Freckles tuned his 
last note. Wearied almost to falling, he turned from the* 
trail into the path leading to the cabin for a few hours’ rest* 


















CHAPTER XII 

Wherein Black Jack Captures Freckles and the 
Angel Captures Jack 












N 






CHAPTER XII 


Wherein Black Jack Captures Freckles and ths 
Angel Captures Jack 

FRECKLES left the trail, from the swale close the 



south entrance, four large muscular men arose 


and swiftly and carefully entered the swamp by 


the wagon-road. Two of them carried a big saw, the third, 
coils of rope and wire, and all of them were heavily armed. 
They left one man on guard at the entrance. The other 
three made their way through the darkness as best they 
could, and were soon at Freckles’ room. He had left the 
swamp on his wheel from the west trail. They counted on 
his returning on the wheel and circling the east line before 
he came there. 

A little below the west entrance to Freckles’ room 5 
Black Jack stepped into the swale, and binding a wire 
tightly around a scrub oak, carried it below the waving 
grasses., stretched it taut across the trail, and fastened 
it to a tree in the swamp. Then he obliterated all signs of 
his work, and arranged the grass over the wire until it was 
so completely covered that only minute examination would 
reveal it. They entered Freckles’ room with coarse oaths 
and jests. In a few moments, his specimen case with its 
precious contents was rolled into the swamp, while the saw 
was eating into one of the finest trees of the Limberlost* 


i95 


FRECKLES 


196 

The first report from the man on watch was that Dun* 
can had driven to the South camp; the second, that 
Freckles was coming. The man watching was sent to see 
on which side the boy turned into the path; as they had 
expected, he took the east. He was a little tired and his 
head was rather stupid, for he had not been able to sleep as 
he had hoped, but he was very happy. Although he 
watched until his eyes ached, he could see no sign of any 
one having entered the swamp. 

He called a cheery greeting to all his chickens. At 
Sleepy Snake Creek he almost fell from his wheel with 
surprise: the saw-bird was surrounded by four lanky 
youngsters clamouring for breakfast. The fathei was 
strutting with all the importance of a drum-major. 

“No use to expect the Bird Woman to-day/' said 
Freckles; “but now wouldn’t she be jumping for a chance 
at that?” 

As soon as Freckles was far down the east line, the 
watch was posted below the room on the west to report his 
coming. It was only a few moments before the signal 
came. Then the saw stopped, and the rope was brought 
out and uncoiled close to a sapling. Wessner and Black 
Jack crowded to the very edge of the swamp a little above 
the wire, and crouched, waiting. 

They heard Freckles before they saw him. He came 
gliding down the line swiftly, and as he rode he was singing 
softly: 

“Oh, do you love, 

Oh, say you love ” 

He got no farther. The sharply driven wheel struck the 


CAPTURED 


197 

tense wire and bounded back. Freckles shot over the 
handlebar and coasted down the trail on his chest. As he 
struck, Black Jack and Wessner were upon him. Wessner 
-caught off an old felt hat and clapped it over Freckles’ 
mouth, while Black Jack twisted the boy’s arms behind 
him and they rushed him into his room. Almost before he 
realized that anything had happened, he was trussed to a 
tree and securely gagged. 

Then three of the men resumed work on the tree. The 
other followed the path Freckles had worn to Little 
Chicken’s tree, and presently he reported that the wires 
were down and two teams with the loading apparatus 
coming to take out the timber. All the time the saw was 
slowly eating, eating into the big tree. 

Wessner went to the trail and removed the wire. He 
picked up Freckles’ wheel, that did not seem to be in- 
jured, and leaned it against the bushes so that if any one 
did pass on the trail he would not see it doubled in the 
swamp-grass. 

Then he came and stood in front of Freckles and laughed 
in devilish hate. To his own amazement, Freckles found 
himself looking fear in the face, and marvelled that he was 
not afraid. Four to one ! The tree half-way eaten through, 
the wagons coming up the inside road — he, bound and 
gagged! The men with Black Jack and Wessner had be- 
longed to McLean’s gang when last he had heard of them, 
but who those coming with the wagons might be he could 
not guess. 

If they secured that tree, McLean lost its value, lost his 
wager, and lost his faith in him. The words of the Angel 


FRECKLES 


198 

hammered in his ears. “Oh, Freckles, do watch closely P e 

The saw worked steadily. 

/When the tree was down and loaded, what would they 
do? Pull out, and leave him there to report them? It 
was not to be hoped for. The place always had been law- 
less. It could mean but one thing. 

A mist swept before his eyes, while his head swam. Was 
it only last night that he had worshipped the Angel in a 
delirium of happiness? And now, what? Wessner, re- 
leased from a turn at the saw, walked to the flower-bed, and 
tearing up a handful of rare ferns by the roots, started 
toward Freckles. His intention was obvious. Black Jack 
stopped him, with an oath. 

“You see here, Dutchy,” he bawled, “mebby you think 
you’ll wash his face with that, but you won’t. A contract’s 
a contract. We agreed to take out these trees and leave 
him for you to dispose of whatever way you please, pro- 
vided you shut him up eternally on this deal. But I’ll not 
see a tied man tormented by a fellow that he can lick up 
the ground with, loose, and that’s flat. It raises my 
gorge to think what he’ll get when we’re gone, but you' 
needn’t think you’re free to begin before. Don’t you lay 
a hand on him while I’m here! What do you say, boys?” 

“I say yes,” growled one of McLean’s latest deserters. 
“What’s more, we’re a pack of fools to risk the dirty work 
of silencing him. You had him face down and you on his 
back; why the hell didn’t you cover his head and roll him 
into the bushes until we were gone? When I went into 
this, I didn’t understand that he was to see all of us and 
that there was murder on the ticket. I’m not up to it. I 


CAPTURED 


199 

don't mind lifting trees we came for, but Fm cursed if I 
want blood on my hands.” 

“Well, you ain’t going to get it,” bellowed Jack. “You 
fellows only contracted to help me get out my marked 
trees. He belongs to Wessner, and it ain’t in our deal 
what happens to him.” 

“Yes, and if Wessner finishes him safely, we are practi- 
cally in for murder as well as stealing the trees; and if he 
don’t, all hell’s to pay. I think you’ve made a damnable 
bungle of this thing; that’s what I think!” 

“Then keep your thoughts to yourself,” cried Jack. 
“We’re doing this, and it’s all planned safe and sure. As 
for killing that buck — come to think of it, killing is what he 
needs. He’s away too good for this world of woe, any- 
how. I tell you, it’s all safe enough. His dropping out 
won’t be the only secret the old Limberlost has never told. 
It’s too dead easy to make it look like he helped take the 
timber and then cut. Why, he’s played right into our 
hands. He was here at the swamp all last night, and back 
again in an hour or so. When we get our plan worked out, 
even old fool Duncan won’t lift a finger to look for his 
carcass. We couldn’t have him going in better shape.” 

“You just bet,” said Wessner. “I owe him all he’ll get, 
and be damned to you, but I’ll pay!” he snarled at 
Freckles. 

So it was killing, then. They were not only after this 
one tree, but many, and with his body it was their plan to 
kill his honour. To brand him a thief, with them, before 
the Angel, the Bird Woman, the dear Boss, and the Dun- 
cans — Freckles, in sick despair, sagged against the ropes. 


400 


FRECKLES 


Then he gathered his forces and thought swiftly. There 
was no hope of McLean’s coming. They had chosen a day 
when they knew he had a big contract at the South camp. 
The Boss could not come before to-morrow by any possi- 
bility, and there would be no to-morrow for the boy. 
Duncan was on his way to the South camp, and the Bird 
Woman had said she would come as soon as she could. 
After the fatigue of the party, it was useless to expect her 
and the Angel to-day, and God save them from coming! 
The Angel’s father had said they would be as safe in the 
Limberlost as at home. What would he think of this? 

The sweat broke on Freckles’ forehead. He tugged at 
the ropes whenever he felt that he dared, but they were 
passed around the tree and his body several times, and 
knotted on his chest. He was helpless. There was no 
hope, no help. And after they had conspired co make him 
appear a runaway thief to his loved ones, what was it that 
Wessner would do to him? 

Whatever it was, Freckles lifted his head and resolved 
that he would bear in mind what he had once heard the 
Bird Woman say. He would go out bonnily. Never 
Would he let them see, if he grew afraid. After all, what 
did it matter what they did to his body if by some scheme 
of the devil they could encompass his disgrace? 

Then hope suddenly rose high in Freckles’ breast. 
They could not do that! The Angel would not believe. 
Neither would McLean. He would keep up his courage. 
Kill him they could; dishonour him they could not. 

Yet, summon all the fortitude he might, that saw eating 
Into the tree rasped his nerves worse and worse. With 


CAPTURED 


201 


whirling brain he gazed into the Limberlost, searching for 
something, he knew not what, and in blank horror found 
his eyes focussing on the Angel. She was quite a distance 
away, but he could see her white lips and angry expression. 

Last week he had taken her and the Bird Woman across 
the swamp over the path he followed in going from his 
room to the chicken tree. He had told them the night 
before, that the butterfly tree was on the line close to this 
path. In figuring on their not coming that day, he failed 
to reckon with the enthusiasm of the Bird Woman. They 
must be there for the study, and the Angel had risked 
crossing the swamp in search of him. Or was there some- 
thing in his room they needed ? The blood surged in his 
ears as the roar of the Limberlost in the wrath of a 
storm. 

He looked again, and it had been a dream. She was not 
there. Had she been? For his life, Freckles could not tell 
whether he really had seen the Angel, or whether his 
strained senses had played him the most cruel trick of alL 
Or was it not the kindest? Now he could go with the 
vision of her lovely face fresh with him. 

“Thank You for that, oh God!” whispered Freckles. 
“’Twas more than kind of You and I don’t s’pose I ought 
to be wanting anything else; but if You can, oh, I wish I 
could know before this ends, if ’twas me mother” — 
Freckles could not even whisper the words, for he hesitated 
a second and ended — “if 9 tzvas me mother did it!" 

“Freckles! Freckles! Oh, Freckles!” the voice of the 
Angel came calling. F reckles swayed forward and wrenched 
at the rope until it cut deeply into his body. 


202 


FRECKLES 


“Hell!” cried Black Jack. “Who is that? Do you 
know ? ” 

Freckles nodded. 

Jack whipped out a revolver and snatched the gag from 
Freckles’ mouth. 

“Say quick, or it’s up with you right now, and whoever 
that is with you!” 

“It’s the girl the Bird Woman takes with her/* 
whispered Freckles through dry, swollen lips. 

“They ain’t due here for five days yet,” said Wessner. 
“We got on to that last week.” 

“Yes,” said Freckles; “but I found a tree covered with 
butterflies and things along the east line yesterday that I 
thought the Bird Woman would want extra, and I went to 
town to tell her last night. She said she’d come soon, but 
she didn’t say when. They must be here. I take care of 
the girl while the Bird Woman works. Untie me quick 
until she is gone. I’ll try to send her back, and then you 
can go on with your dirty work.” 

“He ain’t lying,” volunteered Wessner. “I saw that 
tree covered with butterflies and him watching around it 
when we were spying on him yesterday.” 

“No, he leaves lying to your sort,” snapped Black Jack, 
as he undid the rope and pitched it across the room. 
“Remember that you’re covered every move you make, 
my buck,” he cautioned. 

“Freckles! Freckles!” came the Angel’s impatient 
voice, closer and closer. 

“I must be answering,” said Freckles, and Jack nodded. 
“Right here!” he called, and to the men: “You go on with 


CAPTURED 


203 

your work, and remember one thing yourselves. The 
work of the Bird Woman is known all over the world. 
This girl’s father is a rich man, and she is all he has. It 
vou offer hurt of any kind to either of them, this world 
has no place far enough away or dark enough for you to be 
hiding in. Hell will be easy to what any man will get if he 
touches either of them!” 

“Freckles, where are you?” demanded the Angel. 

Soulsick with fear for her, Freckles went toward her and 
parted the bushes that she might enter. She came 
through without apparently giving him a glance, and the 
first words she said were: “Why have the gang come so 
soon ? I didn’t know you expected them for three weeks 
yet. Or is this some especial tree that Mr. McLean needs 
to fill an order right now?” 

Freckles hesitated. Would a man dare lie to save him- 
self? No. But to save the Angel — surely that was 
different. He opened his lips, but the Angel was capable 
of saving herself. She walked among them, exactly as if 
she had been reared in a lumber-camp, and never waited 
for an answer. 

“Why, your specimen case!” she cried. “Look! 
Haven’t you noticed that it’s tipped over ? Set it straight, 
quickly!” 

A couple of the men stepped out and carefully righted 
the case. 

“There! That’s better,” she said. “Freckles, I’m sur- 
prised at your being so careless. It would be a shame to 
break those lovely butterflies for one old tree! Is that a 
valuable tree ? Why didn’t you tell us last night you were 


FRECKLES 


204 

going to take out a tree this morning? Oh, say, did you 
put your case there to protect that tree from that stealing 
old Black Jack and his gang? I bet you did! Well, il 
that wasn’t bright! What kind of a tree is it?” 

“It’s a white oak,” said Freckles. 

“Like those they make dining-tables and sideboards 
from ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“My! How interesting!” she cried. “I don’t know a 
thing about timber, but my father wants me to learn just 
everything I can. I am going to ask him to let me come 
here and watch you until I know enough to boss a gang 
myself. Do you like to cut trees, gentlemen?” she asked 
with angelic sweetness of the men. 

Some of them appeared foolish and some grim, but one 
managed to say they did. 

Then the Angel’s eyes turned full on Black Jack, and she 
gave the most natural little start of astonishment. 

“Oh! I almost thought that you were a ghost!” she 
cried. “But I see now that you are really and truly. 
Were you ever in Colorado?” 

“No,” said Jack. 

“I see you aren’t the same man,” said the Angel. “You 
know, we were in Colorado last year, and there was a cow- 
boy who was the handsomest man anywhere around. 
He’d come riding into town every night, and all we girls 
just adored him! Oh, but he was a beauty! I thought at 
first glance you were really he, but I see now he wasn’t 
nearly so tall nor so broad as you, and only half as hand- 
some.” 


CAPTURED 


205 

The men began to laugh while Jack flushed crimson. 
The Angel joined in the laugh. 

“Well, Til leave it to you! Isn’t he handsome?” she 
challenged. “As for that cowboy’s face, it couldn’t be 
compared with yours. The only trouble with you is that 
your clothes are spoiling you. It’s the dress those cowboys 
wear that makes half their attraction. If you were prop- 
erly clothed, you could break the heart of the prettiest girl 
in the country.” 

With one accord the other men looked at Black Jack, 
and for the first time realized that he was a superb speci- 
men of manhood, for he stood six feet tall, was broad, well- 
rounded, and had dark, even skin, big black eyes, and full 
red lips. 

“I’ll tell you what!” exclaimed the Angel. “I’d just 
love to see you on horseback. Nothing sets a handsome 
man off so splendidly. Do you ride?” 

“Yes,” said Jack, and his eyes were burning on the Angel 
as if he would fathom the depths of her soul. 

“Well,” said the Angel winsomely, “I know what I just 
wish you’d do. I wish you would let your hair grow a 
little longer. Then wear a blue flannel shirt a little open 
at the throat, a red tie, and a broad-brimmed felt hat, and 
ride past my house of evenings. I’m always at home then, 
and almost always on the veranda, and, oh! but I would 
like to see you! Will you do that for me?” 

It is impossible to describe the art with which the Angel 
asked the question. She was looking straight into Jack’s 
face, coarse and hardened with sin and careless living, 
which was now taking on a wholly different expression. 


20 6 


FRECKLES 


The evil lines of it were softening and fading under hef 
clear gaze. A dull red flamed into his bronze cheeks, while 
his eyes were growing brightly tender. 

“Yes,” he said, and the glance he gave the men was of 
such a nature that no one saw lit even to change counte- 
nance. 

“Oh, goody!” she cried, tilting on her toes. “Ell ask all 
the girls to come see, but they needn’t stick in! We can 
get along without them, can’t we?” 

Jack leaned toward her. He was the charmed fluttering 
bird, while the Angel was the snake. 

“Well, I rather guess!” he cried. 

The Angel drew a deep breath and surveyed him rap- 
turously. 

“My, but you’re tall!” she commented. “Do you 
suppose I ever will grow to reach your shoulders ? ” 

She stood on tip toe and measured the distance with her 
eyes. Then she developed timid confusion, while her 
glance sought the ground. 

“I wish I could do something,” she half whispered. 

Jack seemed to increase an inch in height. 

“What?” he asked hoarsely. 

“Lariat Bill used always to have a bunch of red flowers 
in his shirt pocket. The red lit up his dark eyes and olive 
cheeks and made him splendid. May I put some red 
flowers on you ? ” 

Freckles stared as he wheezed for breath. He wished 
the earth would open and swallow him. Was he dead or 
alive? Since his Angel had seen Black Jack she never 
had glanced his way. Was she completely bewitched? 


CAPTURED 


207 

Would she throw herself at the man’s feet before them all ? 
Couldn’t she give him even one thought ? I ladn’t she seen 
that he was gagged and bound ? Did she truly think that 
these were McLean’s men? Why, she could not! It was 
only a few days ago that she had been close enough to this 
man and angry enough with him to peel the hat from his 
head with a shot! Suddenly a thing she had said jestingly 
to him one day came back with startling force: “ You must 
take Angels on trust.” Of course you must! She was his 
Angel. She must have seen! His life, and what was far 
more, her own, was in her hands. There was nothing he 
could do but trust her. Surely she was working out some 
plan. 

The Angel knelt beside his flower-bed and recklessly 
tore up by the roots a big bunch of foxfire. 

“These stems are so tough and sticky,” she said. “I 
can’t break them. Loan me your knife,” she ordered 
Freckles. 

As she reached for the knife, her back was for one second 
toward the men. She looked into his eyes and deliberately 
winked. 

She severed the stems, tossed the knife to Freckles, and 
Walking to Jack, laid the flowers over his heart. 

Freckles broke into a sweat of agony. He had said she 
urould be safe in a herd of howling savages. Would she? 
If Black Jack even made a motion toward touching her, 
Freckles knew that from somewhere he would muster the 
strength to kill him. He mentally measured the distance 
to where his club lay and set his muscles for a spring. But 
no — by the splendour of God! The big fellow was baring 


208 


FRECKLES 


his head with a hand that was unsteady. The Angel 
pulled one of the long silver pins from her hat and fastened 
her flowers securely. 

Freckles was quaking. What was to come next? What 
was she planning, and oh! did she understand the danger of 
her presence among those men; the real necessity for 
action ? 

As the Angel stepped from Jack, she turned her head to 
one side and peered at him, quite as Freckles had seen the 
little yellow fellow do on the line a hundred times, and said i 
“Well, that does the trick! Isn’t that fine? See how it 
sets him off, boys ? Don’t you forget the tie is to be red, 
and the first ride soon. I can’t wait very long. Now I 
must go. The Bird Woman will be ready to start, and she 
will come here hunting me next, for she is busy to-day. 
What did I come here for anyway?” 

She glanced inquiringly around, and several of the men 
laughed. Oh, the delight of it! She had forgotten her 
errand for him! Jack had a second increase in height. 
The Angel glanced helplessly as if seeking a clue. Then her 
eyes fell, as if by accident, on Freckles, and she cried, “Oh, 
1 know now! It was those magazines the Bird Woman 
promised you. I came to tell you that we put them 
under the box where we hide things, at the entrance to the 
swamp as we came in. I knew I would need my hands 
crossing the swamp, so I hid them there. You’ll find 
them at the same old place.” 

Then Freckles spoke. 

“It’s mighty risky for you to be crossing the swamp 
sdone,” he said. “I’m surprised that the Bird Woman 


CAPTURED 


209 

m>uld be letting you try it. I know it’a a little farther, but 
it’s begging you I am to be going back by xhe trail. That’* 
bad enough, but it’s far safer than the swamp.” 

The Angel laughed merrily. 

“Oh stop your nonsense !” she cried. “I’m not afraid! 
Not in the least! The Bird Woman didn’t want me to 
try following a path that I’d been over only once, but 
I was sure I could do it, and I’m rather proud of the 
performance. Now, don’t go babying! You know I’m 
not afraid!” 

“No,” said Freckles gently, “I know you’re not; but 
that has nothing to do with the fact that your friends are 
afraid for you. On the trail you can see your way a bit 
ahead, and you’ve all the world a better chance if you 
meet a snake.” 

Then Freckles had an inspiration. He turned to Jack 
imploringly. 

“You tell her!” he pleaded. “Tell her to go by the 
trail. She will for you.” 

The implication of this statement was so gratifying to 
Black Jack that he seemed again to expand and take on in- 
crease before their very eyes. 

“You bet!” exclaimed Jack. And to the Angel : “You 
better take Freckles’ word for it, Miss. He knows the old 
swamp better than any of us, except me, and if he says ‘go 
by the trail,’ you’d best do it.” 

The Angel hesitated. She wanted to recross the swamp 
and try to reach the horse. She knew Freckles would 
brave any danger to save her crossing the swamp alone* 
but she really was not afraid, while the trail added over a 


210 FRECKLES 

mile to the walk. She knew the path. She intended to run 
for dear life the instant she felt herself from their sight, and 
tucked in the folds of her blouse was a fine little 32-calibre 
revolver that her father had presented her for her share in 
what he was pleased to call her military exploit. One last 
glance at Freckles showed her the agony in his eyes, and 
immediately she imagined he had some other reason. She 
would follow the trail. 

“All right,” she said, giving Jack a thrilling glance. “If 
you say so, HI return by the trail to please you. Good-bye, 
everybody/’ 

She lifted the bushes and started toward the entrance, 

“You damned fool! Stop her!” growled Wessner. 
“ Keep her till we’re loaded, anyhow. You’re playing hell! 
Can’t you see that when this thing is found out, there she’ll 
be to ruin all of us. If you let her go, every man of us has 
got to cut, and some of us will be caught sure.” 

Jack sprang forward. Freckles’ heart muffled in his 
throat. The Angel seemed to divine Jack’s coming. She 
was humming a little song. She deliberately stopped and 
began pulling the heads of the curious grasses that grew all 
around her. When she straightened, she took a step back- 
ward and called: “Ho! Freckles, :he Bird Woman wants 
that natural history pamphlet returned. It belongs to a 
set she is going to have bound. That’s one of the reasons 
we put it under the box. You be sure to get them as you 
go home to-night, for fear it rains or becomes damp with 
the heavy dews.” 

“All right,” said Freckles, but it was in a voice that he 
never had heard before. 


CAPTURED 


211 


Then the Angel turned and sent a parting glance at 
Jack. She was overpoweringly human and bewitchingly 
lovely. 

“You won’t forget that ride and the red tie,” she half 
asserted, half questioned. 

Jack succumbed. Freckles was his captive, but he was 
the Angel’s, soul and body. His face wore the holiest look 
it ever had known as he softly re-echoed Freckles’: “All 
right.” With her head held well up, the Angel walked: 
slowly away, and Jack turned to the men. 

“ Drop your damned staring and saw wood,” he shouted. 
“ Don’t you know anything at all about how to treat a 
lady?” 

It might have been a question which of the crones that 
crouched over green wood fires in the cabins of Wildcat 
Hollow, eternally sucking a corncob pipe and stirring the 
endless kettles of stewing coon and opossum, had taught 
him to do even as well as he had by the Angel. 

The men muttered and threatened among themselves, 
but they began working desperately. Some one suggested 
that a man be sent to follow the Angel and to watch her 
and the Bird Woman leave the swamp. Freckles’ heart 
tank within him, but Jack was in a delirium and past all 
caution. 

“Yes,” he sneered. “Mebby all of you had better give 
over on the saw and run after the girl. I guess not! Seems 
to me I got the favours. I didn’t see no bouquets on the rest 
of you! If anybody follows her, I do, and I’m needed here 
among such a pack of idiots. There’s no danger in that 
baby face. She wouldn’t give me awav ! You double and 


212 


FRECKLES 


work like forty, while me and Wessner will take the axes 
and begin to cut in on the other side.” 

“What about the noise?” asked Wessner. 

“No difference about the noise,” answered Jack. “She 
took us to be from McLean's gang, slick as grease. Make 
the chips fly!” 

So all of them attacked the big tree. 

Freckles sat on one of his benches and waited. In their 
haste to fell the tree and load it, so that the teamsters 
•could start, and leave them free to attack another, they 
had forgotten to rebind him. 

The Angel was on the trail and safely started. The cold 
perspiration made Freckles' temples clammy and ran in 
little streams down his chest. It would take her more 
time to follow the trail, but her safety was Freckles' sole 
thought in urging her to go that way. He tried to figure 
on how long it would require to walk to the carriage. He 
wondered if the Bird Woman had unhitched. He followed 
the Angel every step of the way. He figured on when she 
would cross the path of the clearing, pass the deep poo! 
where his “find-out” frog lived, cross Sleepy Snake Creek, 
and reach the carriage. 

He wondered what she would say to the Bird Woman, 
and how long it would take them to pack and start. He 
knew now that they would understand, and the Angel 
would try to get the Boss there in time to save his wager. 
She could never do it, for the saw was over half through, 
and Jack and Wessner cutting into the opposite side of the 
tree. It appeared as if they could fell at least that tree, be- 
fore McLean could come, and if they did he lost his wager. 


CAPTURED 


213 

When it was down, would they rebind him and leave 
him for Wessner to wreak his insane vengeance on, or 
would they take him along to the next tree and dispose of 
him when they had stolen all the timber they could ? Jack 
had said that he should not be touched until he left. 
Surely he would not run all that risk for one tree, when he 
had many others of far greater value marked. Freckles 
felt that he had some hope to cling to now, but he found 
himself praying that the Angel would hurry. 

Once Jack came to Freckles and asked if he had any 
water. Freckles arose and showed him where he kept his 
drinking-water. Jack drank in great gulps, and as he 
passed back the bucket, he said: “When a man’s got a 
chance of catching a fine girl like that, he ought not be 
mixed up in any dirty business. I wish to God I was out cf 
this!” 

Freckles answered heartily: “I wish I was, too!” 

Jack stared at him a minute and then broke into a roar 
of rough laughter. 

“Blest if I blame you,” he said. “But you had your 
chance! We offered you a fair thing and you gave Wess- 
ner his answer. I ain’t envying you when he gives you his.” 

“You’re six to one,” answered Freckles. “It will be 
easy enough for you to be killing the body of me, but, curse 
you all, you can’t blacken me soul!” 

“Well, I’d give anything you could name if I had your 
honesty,” said Jack. 

When the mighty tree fell, the Limberlost shivered and 
screamed with the echo. Freckles groaned in despair, but 
the gang took heart. That was so much accomplished. 


FRECKLES 


214 

They knew where to dispose of it safely, with no questions 
asked. Before the day was over, they could remove three 
others, all suitable for veneer and worth far more than this. 
Then they would leave Freckles to Wessner and scatter for 
safety, with more money than they had ever hoped for in 
their possession. 


CHAPTER XIII 


Wherein the Angel Releases Freckles, and 
Curse of Black Jack Falls upon Her 








* 







CHAPTER XIII 


Wherein the Angel Releases Freckles, and the 
Curse of Black Jack Falls upon Her 

O N THE line, the Angel gave one backward glance 
at Black Jack, to see that he had returned to his 
work. Then she gathered her skirts above her 
knees and leaped forward on the run. In the first three 
yards she passed Freckles’ wheel. Instantly she imagined 
that was why he had insisted on her coming by the trail. 
She seized it and sprang on. The saddle was too high, but 
she was an expert rider and could catch the pedals as they 
came up. She stopped at Duncan’s cabin long enough to 
remedy this, telling Mrs. Duncan while working what was 
happening, and for her to follow the east trail until she 
found the Bird Woman, and told her that she had gone 
after McLean and for her to leave the swamp as quickly as 
possible. 

Even with her fear for Freckles to spur her, Sarah Dun- 
can blanched and began shivering at the idea of facing the 
Limberlost. The Angel looked her in the eyes. 

“No matter how afraid you are, you have to go,” she 
said. “If you don’t the Bird Woman will go to Freckles’ 
room, hunting me, and they will have trouble with her. If 
she isn’t told to leave at once, they may follow me, and, 
finding I’m gone* do some terrible thing to Freckles. I 
217 


2lS 


FRECKLES 


can’t go — that’s flat — for if they caught me, then there’d 
be no one to go for help. You don’t suppose they are going 
to take out the trees "hey ’re after and then leave Freckles 
to run and tell? They rxe going to murder the boy; that’s 
what they are going to do. You run, and run for life! For 
Freckles’ life! You can ride back with the Bird Woman.” 

The Angel saw Mrs. Duncan started; then began her 
race. 

Those awful miles of corduroy! Would they never end ? 
She did not dare use the wheel too roughly, for if it broke 
she never could arrive on time afoot. Where her way was 
impassable for the wheel, she jumped oflf, and pushing it 
beside her or carrying it, she ran as fast as she could. The 
day was fearfully warm. The sun poured with the fierce 
baking heat of August. The bushes claimed her hat, and 
the did not stop for it. 

Where it was at all possible, the Angel mounted and 
pounded over the corduroy again. She was panting for 
breath and almost worn out when she reached the level 
pike. She had no idea how long she had been — and only 
two miles covered. She leaned over the bars, almost 
standing on the pedals, racing with all the strength in her 
body. The blood surged in her ears while her head swam, 
but she kept a straight course, and rode and rode. It 
seemed to her that she was standing still, while the trees 
and houses were racing past her. 

Once a farmer’s big dog rushed angrily into the road and 
she swerved until she almost fell, but she regained her 
balance, and setting her muscles, pedalled as fast as she 
could. At last she lifted her head. Surely it could not be 


RELEASED 


219 

over a mile more. She had covered two of corduroy and 
at least three of gravel, and it was only six in all. 

She was reeling in the saddle, but she gripped the bars 
with new energy, and raced desperately. The sun beat on 
her bare head and hands. Just when she was choking with 
dust, and almost prostrate with heat and exhaustion — 
crash, she ran into a broken bottle. Snap! went the 
tire; the wheel swerved and pitched over. The Angel 
rolled into the thick yellow dust of the road and lay 
quietly. 

From afar, Duncan began to notice a strange, dust* 
covered object in the road, as he headed toward town with 
the first load of the day’s felling. 

tie chirruped to the bays and hurried them all he could. 
As. he neared the Angel, he saw it was a woman and a 
broken wheel. He was beside her in an instant. He 
carried her to a shaded fence-corner, stretched her on the 
grass, and wiped the dust from the lovely face all dirt- 
streaked, crimson, and bearing a startling whiteness 
around the mouth and nose. 

Wheels were common enough. Many of the farmers’ 
daughters owned and rode them, but he knew these same 
farmers’ daughters; this face was a stranger’s. He glanced 
at the Angel’s tumbled clothing, the silkiness of her hair, 
with its pale satin ribbon, and noticed that she had lost her 
hat. Her lips tightened in an ominous quiver. He left 
her and picked up the wheel: as he had surmised, he knew 
it. This, then, was Freckles’ Swamp Angel. There was 
trouble in the Limberlost, and she had broken down racing 
to McLean. Duncan turned the bays into a fence-corner. 


220 


FRECKLES 


tied one of them, unharnessed the other, fastened up the 
trace chains, and hurried to the nearest farmhouse to send 
help to the Angel. He found a woman, who took a bottle 
of camphor, a jug of water, and some towels, and started 
on the run. 

Then Duncan put the bay to speed and raced to camp. 

The Angel, left alone, lay still for a second, then she 
shivered and opened her eyes. She saw that she was on 
the grass and the broken wheel beside her. Instantly she 
realized that some one had carried her there and gone after 
help. She sat up and looked around. She noticed the 
load of logs and the one horse. Some one was riding afte* 
help for her! 

“Oh, poor Freckles !” she wailed. “They may be kill- 
ing him by now. Oh, how much time have I wasted?” 

She hurried to the other bay, her fingers flying as she set 
him free. Snatching up a big blacksnake whip that laid 
on the ground, she caught the hames, stretched along the 
horse’s neck, and, for the first time, the fine, big fellow felt 
on his back the quality of the lash that Duncan was ac- 
customed to crack over him. He was frightened, and ran 
at top speed. 

The Angel passed a wildly waving, screaming woman on 
the road, and a little later a man riding as if he, too, were 
in great haste. The man called to her, but she only lay 
lower and used the whip. Soon the feet of the man’s horse 
sounded farther and farther away. 

At the South camp they were loading a second wagon, 
when the Angel appeared riding one of Duncan’s bays, 
lathered and dripping, and cried: “Everybody q # 


RELEASED 


221 


Freckles! There are thieves stealing trees, and they had 
him bound. They’re going to kill him!” 

She wheeled the horse toward the Limberlost. The 
alarm sounded through camp. The gang were not un- 
prepared. McLean sprang to Nellie’s back and raced after 
the Angel. As they passed Duncan, he wheeled and fol- 
lowed. Soon the pike was an irregular procession of bare- 
backed riders, wildly driving flying horses toward the 
swamp. 

The Boss rode neck-and-neck with the Angel. He re- 
peatedly commanded her to stop and fall out of line, until 
he remembered that he would need her to lead him to 
Freckles. Then he gave up and rode beside her, for she 
was sending the bay at as sharp a pace as the other horses 
could keep and hold out. He could see that she was not 
hearing him. He glanced back and saw that Duncan was 
close. There was something terrifying in the appearance 
of the big man, and the manner in which he sat his beast 
and rode. It would be a sad day for the man on whom 
Duncan’s wrath broke. There were four others close be- 
hind him, and the pike filling with the remainder of the 
gang; so McLean took heart and raced beside the Angel. 
Over and over he asked her where the trouble was, but she 
only gripped the hames, leaned along the bay’s neck, and 
slashed away with the blacksnake. The steaming horse, 
with crimson nostrils and heaving sides, stretched out and 
ran for home with all the speed there was in him. 

When they passed the cabin, the Bird Woman’s carriage 
was there and Mrs. Duncan in the door wringing her hands, 
but the Bird Woman was nowhere to be seen. The Angel 


222 


FRECKLES 


sent the bay along the path and turned into the west trail, 
while the men bunched and followed her. When she 
reached the entrance to Freckles’ room, there were four 
men with her, and two more very close behind. She slid 
from the horse, and snatching the little revolver from her 
pocket, darted toward the bushes. McLean caught them 
back, and with drawn weapon, pressed beside her. There 
they stopped in astonishment. 

The Bird Woman blocked the entrance. Over a small 
limb lay her revolver. It was trained at short range on 
Black Jack and Wessner, who stood with their hands 
above their heads. 

Freckles, with the blood trickling down his face, from an 
ugly cut in his temple, was gagged and bound to the tree 
again; the remainder of the men were gone. Black Jack 
was raving as a maniac, and when they looked closer it was 
only the left arm that he raised. His right, with the hand 
shattered, hung helpless at his side, while his revolver laid 
at Freckles’ feet. Wessner ’s weapon was in his belt, and 
beside him Freckles’ club. 

Freckles’ face was white, with colourless lips, but in his 
eyes was the strength of undying courage. McLean 
pushed past the Bird Woman crying: “Hold steady on 
them only one minute more!” 

He snatched the revolver from Wessner’s belt, and 
stooped for Jack’s. 

At that instant the Angel rushed past. She tore the gag 
from Freckles, and seizing the rope knotted on his chest, 
she tugged at it desperately. Under her fingers it gave 
way, and she hurled it to McLean. The men were crowd- 


RELEASED 


223 

ing in, and Duncan seized Wessner. As the Angel saw 
Freckles stand out, free, she reached her arms to him and 
pitched forward. A fearful oath burst from the lips of 
Black Jack. To have saved his life, Freckles could not 
have avoided the glance of triumph he gave Jack, when 
folding the Angel in his arms and stretching her on the 
mosses. 

The Bird Woman cried out sharply for water as she ran 
to them. Some one sprang to bring that, and another to 
break open the case for brandy. As McLean arose from 
binding Wessner, there was a cry that Jack was escaping. 

He was already far in the swamp, running for its densest 
part in leaping bounds. Every man who could be spared 
plunged after him. 

Other members of the gang arriving, were sent to follow 
the tracks of the wagons. The teamsters had driven 
from the west entrance, and crossing the swale, had taken 
the same route the Bird Woman and the Angel had before 
them. There had been ample time for the drivers to reach 
the road; after that they could take any one of four direc- 
tions. Traffic was heavy, and lumber-wagons were pass- 
ing almost constantly, so the men turned back and joined 
the more exciting hunt for a man. The remainder of the 
gang joined them, also farmers of the region and travellers 
attracted by the disturbance. 

Watchers were set along the trail at short intervals. 
They patrolled the line and roads through the swamp that 
night, with lighted torches, and the next day McLean 
headed as thorough a search as he felt could be made of one 
side, while Duncan covered the other; but Black Jack 


FRECKLES 


224 

could not be found. Spies were set around bis home, in 
Wildcat Hollow, to ascertain if he reached there or aid 
was being sent in any direction to him; but it was soon clear 
that his relatives were ignorant of his hiding-place, and 
were searching for him. 

Great is the elasticity of youth. A hot bath and a 
sound night’s sleep renewed Freckles’ strength, and it 
needed but little more to work the same result with the 
AngeL Freckles was on the trail early the next morning. 
Besides a crowd of people anxious to witness Jack’s cap- 
ture, he found four stalwart guards, one at each turn. In 
his heart he was compelled to admit that he was glad to 
have them there. Close noon, McLean placed his men in. 
charge of Duncan, and taking Freckles, drove to town tc 
see how the Angel fared. McLean visited a greenhouse 
and bought an armload of its finest products; but Freckles 
would have none of them. He would carry his message in 
■a glowing mass of the Limberlost’s first golden-rod. 

The Bird Woman received them, and in answer to 
their eager inquiries, said that the Angel was in no way 
seriously injured, only so bruised and shaken that their 
doctor had ordered her to lie quietly for the day. Though 
she was sore and stiff, they were having work to keep 
her in bed. Her callers sent up their flowers with their 
grateful regards, and the Angel promptly returned word 
that she wanted to see them. 

She reached both hands to McLean. “What if one 
old tree is gone? You don’t care, sir? You feel that 
Freckles has kept his trust as nobody ever did before, 
don’t you? You won’t forget all those long first days of 


RELEASED 


225 

fright that you told us of, the fearful cold of winter, the 
rain, heat, and lonesomeness, and the brave days, and 
lately, nights, too, and let him feel that his trust is broken? 
Oh, Mr. McLean,” she begged, “say something to him! 
Do something to make him feel that it isn’t for nothing 
5\e has watched and suffered it out with that old Limber- 
lost. Make him see how great and fine it is, and how far, 
far better he has done than you or any of us expected! 
What’s one old tree, anyway?” she cried passionately. 

“I was thinking before you came. Those other men 
were rank big cowards. They weie scared for their lives. 
If they were the drivers, I wager you gloves against 
gloves they never took those logs out to the pike. My 
coming upset them. Before you feel bad any more, you 
go look and see if they didn t lose courage the minute they 
left Wessner and Black Jack, dump that timber and run. 
I don’t believe they ever had the grit to drive out with 
it in daylight. Go see if they didn t figure on leaving the 
way we did the other morning, and you’ll find the logs 
before you reach the road. They never risked taking them 
into the open, when they got away and had time to think. 
Of course they didn’t! 

“And, then, another thing. You haven’t lost your 
wager! It never will be claimed, because you made it 
with a stout, dark, red-faced man who drives a bay and a 
gray. He was right back of you, Mr. McLean, when I 
came yesterday. He went deathly white and shook on 
his feet when he saw those men probably would be caught. 
Some one of them was something to him, and you can 
just spot him for one of the men at the bottom of your 


226 


FRECKLES 


troubles, and urging those younger fellows to steal from 
you. I suppose he’d promised to divide. You settle with 
him, and that business will stop.” 

She turned to Freckles. “And you be the happiest 
man alive, because you have kept your trust. Go look 
where I tell you and you’ll find the logs. I can see just 
about where they are. When they go up that steep little 
hill, into the next woods after the corn-field, why, they 
could unloose the chains and the logs would roll from the 
wagons themselves. Now, you go look; and Mr. Me* 
Lean, you do feel that Freckles has been brave and faith- 
ful? You won’t love him any the less even if you don’t 
find the logs ” 

The Angel’s nerve gave way and she began to cry. 
Freckles could not endure it. He almost ran from the 
room, with the tears in his eyes; but McLean took the 
Angel from the Bird Woman’s arms, and kissed her brave 
little face, stroked her hair, and petted her into quietness 
before he left. 

As they drove to the swamp, McLean so earnestly 
seconded all that the Angel had said that he soon had 
the boy feeling much better. 

“Freckles, your Angel has a spice of the devil in her, 
but she’s superb! You needn’t spend any time ques- 
tioning or bewailing anything she does. Just worship 
blindly, my boy. By heaven! she’s sense, courage, and 
beauty for half a dozen girls,” said McLean. 

“It’s altogether right you are, sir,” affirmed Freckles 
heartily. Presently he added, “There’s no question but 
the series is over now.” 


RELEASED 


227 

“ Don’t think it!” answered McLean. “The Bird 
Woman is working for success, and success along any line 
is not won by being scared out. She will be back on the 
usual day, and ten to one, the Angel will be with her. 
They are made of pretty stern stuff, and they don’t scare 
worth a cent. Before I left, I told the Bird Woman it 
would be safe; and it will. You may do your usual walk- 
ing, but those four guards are there to remain. They 
are under your orders absolutely. They are prohibited 
from firing on any bird or molesting anything that you 
want to protect, but there they remain, and this time it 
is useless for you to say one word. I have listened to 
your pride too long. You are too precious to me, and 
that voice of yours is too precious to the world to run any 
more risks.” 

“I am sorry to have anything spoil the series,” said 
Freckles, “and I’d love them to be coming, the Angel 
especial, but it can’t be. You’ll have to tell them so. 
You see, Jack would have been ready to stake his life 
she meant what she said and did to him. When the teams 
pulled out, Wessner seized me; then he and Jack went 
to quarrelling over whether they should finish me then or 
take me to the next tree they were for felling. Between 
them they were pulling me around and hurting me bad. 
Wessner wanted to get at me right then, and Jack said 
he shouldn’t be touching me till the last tree was out and 
all the rest of them gone. I’m belaving Jack really hated 
to see me done for in the beginning; and I think, too, he 
was afraid if Wessner finished me then he’d lose his nerve 
and cut, and they couldn’t be managing the felling with- 


228 


FRECKLES 


out him; anyway, they were hauling me round like I was 
already past all feeling, and they tied me up again. To 
keep me courage up, I twits Wessner about having to tie 
me and needing another man to help handle me. I told 
him what I’d do to him if I was free, and he grabs up me 
own club and lays open me head with it. When the 
blood came streaming, it set Jack raving, and he cursed 
and damned Wessner for a coward and a softy. Then 
Wessner turned on Jack and gives it to him for letting the 
Angel make a fool of him. Tells him she was just playing 
with him, and beyond all manner of doubt she’d gone 
after you, and there was nothing to do on account of his 
foolishness but finish me, get out, and let the rest of the 
timber go, for likely you was on the way right then. That 
drove Jack plum crazy. 

“I don’t think he was for having a doubt of the Angel 
before, but then he just raved. He grabbed out his gun 
and turned on Wessner. Spang! It went out of his 
fist, and the order comes: ‘Hands up!’ Wessner reached 
for kingdom come like he was expecting to grab hold and 
pull himself up. Jack puts up what he has left. Then 
he leans over to me and tells me what he’ll do to me if he 
ever gets out of there alive. Then, just like a snake hiss- 
ing, he spits out what he’ll do to her for playing him. He 
did get away, and with his strength, that wound in his 
hand won’t be bothering him long. He’ll do to me just 
what he said, and when he hears it really was she that 
went after you, why, he’ll keep his oath about her. 

“He’s lived in the swamp all his life, sir, and every- 
body says it’s always been the home of cutthroats, out- 


RELEASED 


229 

laws, and runaways. He knows its most secret places 
as none of the others. He’s alive. He’s in there now, sir. 
Some way he’ll keep alive. If you’d seen his face, all 
scarlet with passion, twisted with pain, and black with 
hate, and hear him swearing that oath, you’d know it was 
a sure thing. I ain’t done with him yet, and I’ve brought 
this awful thing on her.” 

“And I haven’t begun with him yet,” said McLean,' 
setting his teeth. “I’ve been away too slow and too 
easy, believing there’d be no greater harm than the loss 
of a tree. I’ve sent for a couple of first-class detectives. 
We will put them on his track, and rout him out and rid 
the country of him. I don’t propose for him to stop either 
our work or our pleasure. As for his being in the swamp 
now, I don’t believe it. He’d find a way out last night, 
in spite of us. Don’t you worry! I am at the helm now, 
and I’ll see to that gentleman in my own way.” 

“I wish to my soul you had seen and heard him!** 
said Freckles, unconvinced. 

They entered the swamp, taking the route followed by 
the Bird Woman and the Angel. They really did find the 
logs, almost where the Angel had predicted they would be. 
McLean went to the South camp and had an interview 
with Crowen that completely convinced him that the 
Angel was correct there also. But he had no proof, so all 
he could do was to discharge the man, although his guilt 
was so apparent that he offered to withdraw the wager. 

Then McLean sent for a pack of bloodhounds and put 
them on to the trail of Black Jack. They clung to it, 
on and on, into the depths of the swamp, leading their 


FRECKLES 


230 

followers through what had been considered impassable 
and impenetrable ways, and finally, around near the west 
entrance and into the swale. Here the dogs bellowed, 
raved, and fell over each other in their excitement. They 
raced back and forth from swamp to swale, but follow 
the scent farther they would not, even though cruelly 
driven. At last their owner attributed their actions to 
snakes, and as they were ver^valuable dogs, abandoned 
the effort to urge them on. So that all they really estab- 
lished was the fact that Black Jack had eluded their 
vigilance and crossed the trail some time in the night. Ha 
had escaped to the swale; from there he probably crossed 
the corduroy, and reaching the lower end of the swamp, 
had found friends. It was a great relief to feel that he 
was not in the swamp, and it raised the spirits of every 
man on the line, though many of them expressed regrets 
that he who was undoubtedly most to blame should 
escape, while Wessner, who in the beginning was only his 
tool, should be left to punishment. 

But for Freckles, with Jack's fearful oath ringing in his 
ears, there was neither rest nor peace. He was almost ill 
when the day for the next study of the series arrived and he 
saw the Bird Woman and the Angel coming down the cor- 
duroy. The guards of the east line he left at their cus- 
tomary places, but those of the west he brought over and 
placed, one near Little Chicken’s tree, and the other at the 
carriage. He was firm about the Angel’s remaining in the 
carriage, that he did not offer to have unhitched. He went 
with the Bird Woman to secure the picture, which was the 
easiest matter it had been at any time yet, for the simple 


RELEASED 


231 

reason that the placing of the guards and the unusual 
movement around the swamp had made Mr. and Mrs. 
Chicken timid, and they had not carried Little Chicken the 
customary amount of food. Freckles, in the anxiety of the 
past few days, had neglected him, and he had been so 
hungry, much of the time, that when the Bird Woman held 
up a sweet-bread, although he had started toward the re- 
cesses of the log at her coming, he stopped; with slightly 
opened beak, he waited anxiously for the treat, and gave a 
study of great value, showing every point of his head, also 
his wing and tail development. 

When the Bird Woman proposed to look for other sub- 
jects close the line, Freckles went so far as to tell her that 
Jack had made fearful threats against the Angel. He im- 
plored her to take the Angel home and keep her under un- 
ceasing guard until Jack was located. He wanted to tell 
her all about it, but he knew how dear the Angel was to her, 
and he dreaded to burden her with his fears when they 
might prove groundless. He allowed her to go, but after- 
ward blamed himself severely for having done so. 



CHAPTER XIV 


Wherein Freckles Nurses a Heart-ache 
and Black Jack Drops Out 





CHAPTER XIV 


Wherein Freckles Nurses a Heart-ache and Black 
Jack Drops Out 

M cLEAN,” said Mrs. Duncan, as the Boss paused 
to greet her in passing the cabin, “do you know 
that Freckles hasna been in bed the past five 
nights and all he’s eaten in that many days ye could pack 
into a pint cup?” 

“Why, what does the boy mean?” demanded McLean. 
'‘There's no necessity for him being on guard* with the 
watch I’ve set on the line. I had no idea he was staying 
down there.” 

“He’s no there,” said Mrs. Duncan. “He goes some- 
where else. He leaves on his wheel juist after we’re abed 
and rides in close cock-crow or a little earlier, and he’s 
looking like death and nothing short of it.” 

“ But where does he go ? ’’asked McLean,in astonishment. 
“I’m no given to bearing tales out of school,” said Sarah 
Duncan, “but in this case I’d tell ye if I could. What the 
trouble is I dinna ken. If it is no’ stopped, he’s in for 
dreadful sickness, and I thought ye could find out and help 
him. He’s in sair trouble; that’s all I know.” 

McLean sat brooding as he stroked Nellie’s neck. 

At last he said: “I suspect I understand. At any rate* 
l think I can find out. Thank you for telling me.” 


Z2C 


FRECKLES 


236 

“ Ye’ll 110 need telling, once ye clap your eyes on him,* 
prophesied Mrs. Duncan. “His face is all a glist’ny 
yellow, and he’s peaked as a starving caged bird.” 

McLean rode to the Limberlost, and stopping m the 
shade, sat waiting for Freckles, whose hour for passing the 
foot of the lease had come. 

Along the north line came Freckles, fairly staggering* 
When he turned east and reached Sleepy Snake Creek, 
sliding through the swale as the long black snake for which 
it was named, he sat on the bridge and closed his burning 
eyes, but they would not remain shut. As if pulled by 
wires, the heavy lids flew open, while the outraged nerves 
and muscles of his body danced, twitched, and tingled. 

He bent forward and idly watched the limpid little 
stream flowing beneath his feet. Stretching into the 
swale, it came creeping between an impenetrable wall of 
magnificent wild flowers, vines, and ferns. Milkweed, 
golden-rod, ironwort, fringed gentians, cardinal-flowers, 
and turtle-head stood on the very edge of the creek, and 
every flower of them had a double in the water. Wild 
clematis crowned with snow the heads of trees scattered 
here and there on the bank. 

From afar the creek appeared to be murky, dirty water. 
Really it was clear and sparkling. The tingle of blackness 
was gained from its bed of muck showing through the 
transparent current. He could see small and wonder- 
fully marked fish. What became of them when the creek 
spread into the swamp? For one thing, they would make 
mighty fine eating for the family of that self-satisfied old 
blue heron. 


NURSES A HEART-ACHE 237 

Freckles sat so quietly that soon the brim of his hat was 
covered with snake-feeders, rasping their crisp wings and 
singing while they rested. Some of them settled on the 
club, and one on his shoulder. He was so motionless; 
feathers, fur, and gauze were so accustomed to him, that 
all through the swale they continued their daily life and 
forgot he was there. 

The heron family were wading the mouth of the creek. 
Freckles idly wondered whether the nerve-racking rasps 
they occasionally emitted indicated domestic felicity or a 
raging quarrel. He could not decide. A sheitpoke, with 
flaring crest, went stalking across a bare space close to the 
creek’s mouth. A stately brown bittern waded into the 
clear-flowing water, lifting his feet high at every step, and 
setting them down carefully, as if he dreaded wetting 
them, and with slightly parted beak, stood eagerly watch- 
ing around him for worms. Behind him were some mighty 
trees of the swamp above, and below the bank glowed a 
solid wall of golden-rod. 

No wonder the ancients had chosen yellow as the colour 
to represent victory, for the fierce, conquering hue of the 
sun was in it. They had done well, too, in selecting purple 
as the emblem of royalty. It was a dignified, compelling 
colour, while in its warm tone there was a hint of blood. 

It was the Limberlost’s hour to proclaim her sovereignty 
and triumph. Everywhere she flaunted her yellow banner 
and trailed the purple of her mantle, that was paler in the 
thistle-heads, took on strength in the first opening asters, 
and glowed and burned in the ironwort. 

He gazed into her damp, mossy recesses where hipli-piled 


FRECKLES 


‘238 

riven trees decayed under coats of living green, where 
dainty vines swayed and clambered, and here and there a 
yellow leaf, fluttering down, presaged the coming of 
winter. His love of the swamp laid hold of him and shook 
him with its force. 

Compellingly beautiful was the Limberlost, but cruet 
withal; for inside bleached the uncoffined bones of her vic- 
tims, while she had missed cradling him, oh ! so narrowly. 

He shifted restlessly; the movement sent the snake- 
feeders skimming. The hum of life swelled and roared in 
his strained ears. Small turtles, that had climbed on a log 
to sun, splashed clumsily into the water. Somewhere in 
the timber of the bridge a bloodthirsty little frog cried 
sharply : “ KeeVim ! Keel'im !” 

Freckles muttered: “It’s worse than that Black Jack 
swore to do to me, little fellow. ,, 

A muskrat waddled down the bank and swam for the 
swamp, its pointed nose riffling the water into a shining 
trail in its wake. 

Then, below the turtle-log, a dripping silver-gray head, 
with shining eyes, was cautiously lifted, and Freckles’ hand 
slid to his revolver. Higher and higher came the head, a 
long, heavy, fur-coated body arose, now half, now three- 
fourths from the water. Freckles looked at his shaking 
hand and doubted, but he gathered his forces, the shot 
rang, and the otter lay quiet. He hurried down and tried 
to lift it. He scarcely could muster strength to carry it to 
the bridge. The consciousness that he really could go no 
farther with it made Freckles realize the fact that he was 
close the limit of human endurance. He could bear it 


NURSES A HEART-ACHE 


239 

little, if any, longer. Every hour the dear face of the 
Angel wavered before him, and behind it the awful dis- 
torted image of Black Jack, as he had sworn to the punish- 
ment he would mete out to her. He must either see 
McLean, or else make a trip to town and find her father. 
Which should he do? He was almost a stranger, so the 
Angel's father might not be impressed with what he said 
as he would if McLean went to him. Then he remem- 
bered that McLean had said he would come that morning. 
Freckles never had forgotten before. He hurried on the 
east trail as fast as his tottering legs would carry him. 

He stopped when he came to the first guard, and telling 
him of his luck, asked him to get the otter and carry it to 
the cabin, as he was anxious to meet McLean. 

Freckles passed the second guard without seeing him, 
and hurried to the Boss. He took off his hat, wiped his 
forehead, and stood silent under the eyes of McLean. 

The Boss was dumbfounded. Mrs. Duncan had led 
him to expect that he would find a change in Freckles, but 
this was almost deathly. The fact was apparent that the 
boy scarcely knew what he was doing. His eyes had a 
glazed, far-sighted appearance, that wrung the heart of the 
man who loved him. Without a thought of preliminaries, 
McLean leaned in the saddle and drew Freckles to him. 

“My poor lad!” he said. “My poor, dear lad! tell me, 
and we will try to right it!” 

Freckles had twisted his fingers in Nellie's mane. At 
the kind words his face dropped on McLean's thigh and he 
shook with a nervous chill. McLean gathered him closer 
and waited. 


FRECKLES 


240 

When the guard came with the otter, McLean without 
a word motioned him to lay it down and leave them. 

‘"Freckles,” said McLean at last, “will you tell me, 01 
must I set to work in the dark and try to find the trouble ?'* 

“Oh, I want to tell you ! I must tell you, sir,” shuddered 
Freckles. “I cannot be bearing it the day out alone. I 
was coming to you when I remimbered you would ba 
here.” 

He lifted his face and gazed across the swale, with his 
jaws set firmly a minute, as if gathering his forces. Then 
he spoke. 

“It’s the Angel, sir,” he said. 

Instinctively McLean's grip on him tightened, and 
Freckles looked into the Boss's face in wonder. 

“I tried, the other day,” said Freckles, “and I couldn't 
seem to make you see. It’s only that there hasn't been 
an hour, waking or sleeping, since the day she parted the 
bushes and looked into me room, that the face of her hasn't 
been before me in all the tinderness, beauty, and mischief 
of it. She talked to me friendly like. She trusted me 
entirely to take right care of her. She helped me with 
things about me books. She traited me like I was born 
a gintleman, and shared with me as if I were of her own 
blood. She walked the streets of the town with me before 
her friends with all the pride of a queen. She forgot her- 
self and didn't mind the Bird Woman, and run big risks 
to help me out that first day, sir. This last time she 
^walked into that gang of murderers, took their leader, 
and twisted him to the will of her. She outdone him and 
raced the life almost out of her trying to save me. 


NURSES A HEART-ACHE 


241 

“Since I can remimber, whatever the thing was that 
happened to me in the beginning has been me curse. Fve 
been bitter, hard, and smarting under it hopelessly. She 
came by, and found me voice, and put hope of life and 
success like other men into me in spite of it.” 

Freckles held up his maimed arm. 

“Look at it, sir!’" he said. “A thousand times Fve 
cursed it, hanging there helpless. She took it on the 
street, before all the people, just as if she didn’t see that 
it was a thing to hide and shrink from. Again and again 
Fve had the feeling with her, if I didn’t entirely forget 
it, that she didn’t see it was gone and I must be pointing 
it out to her. Her touch on it was so sacred-like, at times 
since Fve caught meself looking at the awful thing near 
like I was proud of it, *ir. If I had been born your son 
she couldn’t be traiting me more as her equal, and she 
can’t help knowing you ain’t truly me father. Nobody 
can know the homeliness or the ignorance of me better 
that I do, and all me lack of birth, relatives, and money, 
and what’s it all to her?” 

Freckles stepped back, squared his shoulders, and 
with a royal lift of his head looked straight into the Boss’s 
eyes. 

“You saw her in the beautiful little room of her, and 
you can’t be forgetting how she begged and plead with 
you for me. She touched me body, and ’twas sanctified. 
She laid her lips on my brow, and ’twas sacrament. No- 
body knows the height of her better than me. Nobody’s 
studied my depths closer. There’s no bridge for the great 
distance between us, sir, and clearest of all, I’m for realiz- 


FRECKLES 


ing it: but she risked terrible things when she came te 
me among that gang of thieves. She wore herself past 
bearing to save me from such an easy thing as death! 
Now, here’s me, a man, a big, strong man, and letting her 
live under that fearful oath, so worse than any death 
Twould be for her, and lifting not a finger to save her. I 
cannot bear it, sir. It’s killing me by inches! Black 
Jack’s hand may not have been hurt so bad. Any hour 
he may be creeping up behind her! Any minute the awful 
revenge he swore to be taking may in some way fall on 
her, and I haven’t even warned her father. I can’t stay 
here doing nothing another hour. The five nights gone 
I’ve watched under her windows, but there’s the whole 
of the day. She’s her own horse and little cart, and’s 
free to be driving through the town and country as she 
pleases. If any evil comes to her through Black Jack, it 
comes from her angel-like goodness to me. Somewhere 
he’s hiding! Somewhere he is waiting his chance! Some* 
where he is reaching out for her! I tell you I cannot, I 
dare not be bearing it longer!” 

“Freckles, be quiet!” said McLean, his eyes humid 
and his voice quivering with the pity of it all. “Believe 
me, I did not understand. I know the Angel’s father well 
I will go to him at once. I have transacted business with 
him for the past three years. I will make him see ! I am 
only beginning to realize your agony, and the real danger 
there is for the Angel. Believe me, I will see that she is 
fully protected every hour of the day and night until Jack 
is located and disposed of. And I promise you further, 
that if I fail to move her father or make him understand 


NURSES A HEART-ACHE 


243 

the danger, I will maintain a guard over her until Jack is 
caught. Now will you go bathe, drink some milk, go to 
bed, and sleep for hours, and then be my brave, bright 
old boy again ?” 

“Yis,” said Freckles simply. 

But McLean could see the flesh twitching on the 
lad’s bones. 

“What was it the guard brought there?” McLean asked, 
in an effort to distract Freckles’ thoughts. 

“Oh!” Freckles said, glancing where the Boss pointed. 
“I forgot it! ’Tis an otter, and fine past believing, for 
this warm weather. I shot it at the creek this morn- 
ing. ’Twas a good shot, considering. I expected to 
miss.” 

Freckles picked up the animal and started toward Mc- 
Lean with it, but Nellie pricked up her dainty little ears, 
danced into the swale, and snorted with fright. Freckles 
dropped the otter and ran to her head. 

“For pity’s sake, get her on the trail, sir,” he begged. 
“She’s just about where the old king rattler crosses to go 
into the swamp — the old buster Duncan and I have been 
telling you of. I haven’t a doubt but it was the one 
Mother Duncan met. ’Twas down the trail there, just 
a little farther on, that I found her, and it’s sure to be 
close yet.” 

McLean slid from Nellie’s back, led her into the trail 
farther down the line, and tied her to a bush. Then he 
went to examine the otter. It was a rare, big specimen 
with exquisitely fine, long, silky hair. 

“What do you want to do with it, Freckles?” asked / 


FRECKLES 


244 

McLean, as he stroked the soft fur lingeringly. “Do 
you know that it is very valuable ? ” 

“I was for almost praying so, sir,” said Freckles. “As 
I saw it coming up the bank I thought this: Once some- 
where in a book there was a picture of a young girl, and 
she was just a breath like the beautifulness of the Angel. 
Her hands were in a muff as big as her body, and I thought 
it was so pretty. I think she was some queen, or the like. 
Do you suppose I could have this skin tanned and made 
into such a muff as that? — an enormous big one, sir?” 

“Of course you can,” said McLean. “That’s a fine 
idea and it’s easy enough. We must box and express the 
otter, cold storage, by the first train. You stand guard a 
minute and I’ll tell Hall to carry it to the cabin. I’ll 
put Nellie to Duncan’s rig, and we’ll drive to town and 
call on the Angel’s father. Then we’ll start the otter 
while it is fresh, and I’ll write your instructions later. It 
would be a mighty fine thing for you to give to the Angel 
as a little reminder of the Limberlost before it is despoiled, 
and as a souvenir of her trip for you.” 

Freckles lifted a face with a glow of happy colour 
creeping into it and eyes lighting with a former bright- 
ness. Throwing his arms around McLean, he cried: 
“Oh, how I love you! Oh, I wish I could make you know 
how I love you!” 

McLean strained him to his breast. 

“God bless you, Freckles,” he said. “I do know! 
We’re going to have some good old times out of this world 
together, and we can’t begin too soon. Would you rather 
sleep first, or have a bite of lunch, take the drive with me. 


NURSES A HEART-ACHE 245 

and then rest? I don’t know but sleep will come sooner 
and deeper to take the ride and have your mind set at 
ease before you lie down. Suppose you go.” 

“Suppose I do,” said Freckles, with a glimmer of the old 
light in his eyes and newly found strength to shoulder the 
otter. Together they turned into the trail. 

McLean noticed and spoke of the big black chickens. 

“They’ve been hanging round out there for several 
days past,” said Freckles. “I’ll tell you what I think it 
means. I think the old rattler has killed something too 
big for him to swallow, and he’s keeping guard and won’t 
let me chickens have it. I’m just sure, from the way the 
birds have acted out there all summer, that it is the rat- 
tler’s den. You watch them now. See the way they dip 
and then rise, frightened like!” 

Suddenly McLean turned toward him with blanching 
face. 

“Freckles!” he cried. 

“My God, sir!” shuddered Freckles. 

He dropped the otter, caught up his club, and plunged 
into the swale. Reaching for his revolver, McLean fol- 
lowed. The chickens circled higher at their coming, and 
the big snake lifted his head and rattled angrily It 
sank in sinuous coils at the report of McLean’s revolver, 
and together he and Freckles stood beside Black Jack. 
His fate was evident and most horrible. 

“Come,” said the Boss at last. “We don’t dare touch 
him. We will get a sheet from Mrs. Duncan and tuck 
over him, to keep these swarms of insects away, and set 
Hall on guard, while we hnd the officers ” 


FRECKLES 


Freckles* lips closed resolutely. He deliberately thrust 
his club under Black Jack’s body, and, raising him, rested 
it on his knee. He pulled a long silver pin from the front 
of the dead man’s shirt and sent it spinning into the swale. 
Then he gathered up a few crumpled bright flowers an^ 
dropped them into the pool far away. 

“My soul is sick with the horror of this thing,” said 
McLean, as he and Freckles drove toward town. “I 
can’t understand how Jack dared risk creeping through 
the swale, even in desperation. No one knew its dangers 
better than he. And why did he choose the rankest, 
muckiest place to cross the swamp ? ” 

“Don’t you think, sir, it was because it was on a line 
with the Limberlost south of the corduroy? The grass 
Was tallest there, and he counted on those willows to 
screen him. Once he got among them, he would have 
been safe to walk by stooping. If he’d made it past thaV 
place, he’d been sure to get out.” 

“Well, I’m as sorry for Jack as I know how to be,’ v 
said McLean, “but I can’t help feeling relieved that our 
troubles are over, for now they are. With so dreadful a 
punishment for Jack, Wessner under arrest, and warrants 
for the others, we can count on their going away and re- 
maining. As for any one else, I don't think they will 
care to attempt stealing my timber after the experience 
of these men. There is no other man here with Jack’s 
fine ability in woodcraft. He was an expert.” 

“ Did you ever hear of any one who ever tried to locate 
any trees excepting him?” asked Freckles. 

“No, I never did,” said McLean, “ I am sure there wa^ 


NURSES A HEART-ACHE 


H? 

r*o one besides him. You see, it was only with the arrival 
of our company that the other fellows scented good stuff in 
the Limberlost, and tried to work in. Jack knew the 
swamp better than any one here. When he found there 
were two companies trying to lease, he wanted to stand in 
with the one from which he could realize the most. Even 
then he had trees marked that he was trying to dispose of, 
I think his sole intention in forcing me to discharge him 
from my gang was to come here and try to steal timber 
We had no idea, when we took the lease, what a gold-mine 
it was.” 

“ That’s exactly what Wessner said that first day,” said 
Freckles eagerly. “That ’twas a ‘ gold-mine’ ! He said 
he didn’t know where the marked trees were, but he knew 
a man who did, and if I would hold off and let them get the 
marked ones, there were a dozen they could get out in a 
few days.” 

“Freckles!” cried McLean. “You don’t mean a 
dozen!” 

“That’s what he said, sir — a dozen. He said they 
couldn’t tell how the grain of all of them would work up, of 
course, but they were all worth taking out, and five or six 
were real gold-mines. This makes three they’ve tried, so 
there must be nine more marked, and several of them for 
being just fine.” 

“Well, I wish I knew which they are,” said McLean, “so 
I could get them out first.” 

“I have been thinking,” said Freckles. “I believe it 
you will leave one of the guards on the line — say Hall— 
that I will begin on the swamp, at the north end, and lay k 


FRECKLES 


v- 


248 , 

off in sections, and try to hunt out the marked trees. I 
suppose they are all marked something like that first 
maple on the line was. Wessner mentioned another good 
one not so far from that. He said it was best of all. I’d be 
having the swelled head if I could find that. Of course, I 
don’t know a thing about the trees, but I could hunt for the 
marks. Jack was so good at it he could tell some of them 
by the bark, but all he wanted to take that we’ve found so 
far have just had a deep chip cut out, rather low down, and 
where the bushes were thick over it. I believe I could be 
finding some of them.” 

“Good head!” said McLean. “We will do that. You 
may begin as soon as you are rested. And about things 
you come across in the swamp, Freckles — the most trifling 
little thing that you think the Bird Woman would want* 
take your wheel and go after her at any time. I’ll leave 
two men on the line, so that you will have one on either 
side, and you can come and go as you please. Have you 
stopped to think of all we owe her, my boy ? ” 

“Yis; and the Angel — we owe her a lot, too,” said 
Freckles. “I owe her me life and honour. It’s lying 
awake nights I’ll have to be trying to think how I’m ever 
to pay her up.” 

“Well, begin with the muff,” suggested McLean. 
“That should be fine.” 

He bent down and ruffled the rich fur of the otter lying 
at his feet. 

“I don’t exactly see how it comes to be in such splendid 
fur in summer. Their coats are always finest in cold 
Weather, but this scarcely could be improved. I’ll wire 


NURSES A HEART-ACHE 


249 

Coopers to be watching for it. They must have it fresh 
When it’s tanned we won’t spare any expense in making it 
up. It should be a royal thing, and some way I think it 
will exactly suit the Angel. I can’t think of anything that 
would be more appropriate for her.” 

“ Neither can I,” agreed Freckles, heartily. “When I 
Teach the city there’s one other thing, if I’ve the money 
after the muff is finished.” 

He told McLean of Mrs. Duncan’s desire for a hat 
similar to the Angel’s. He hesitated a little in the telling, 
keeping sharp watch on McLean’s face. When he saw the 
Boss’s eyes were full of comprehension and sympathy, he 
loved him anew, for, as ever, McLean was quick to under- 
stand. Instead of laughing, he said: “I think you’ll have 
to let me in on that, too. You mustn’t be selfish, you 
know. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Send it for Christmas* 
I’ll be home then, and we can fill a box. You get the hat. 
I’U add a dress and wrap. You buy Duncan a hat and 
gloves. I’ll send him a big overcoat, and we’ll put in a lot 
of little stuff for the babies. Won’t that be fun?” 

Freckles fairly shivered with delight. 

“That would be away too serious for fun,” he said 
*‘That would be heavenly. How long will it be?” 

He began counting the time, and McLean deliberately 
set himself to encourage Freckles and keep his thoughts 
from the trouble of the past few days, for he had been over* 
wrought and needed quiet and rest. 


























































CHAPTER XV 


Wherein Freckles and the Angel Try Taking 
Picture, and Little Chicken Furnishes the 
Subject 



























% 



CHAPTER XV 


Wherein Freckles and the Angel Try Taking m 
Picture, and Little Chicken Furnishes the 
Subject 

A WEEK later everything at the Limberlost was 
precisely as it had been before the tragedy, ex- 
cept the case in Freckles’ room now rested on the 
stump of the newly felled tree. Enough of the vines were 
left to cover it prettily, and every vestige of the havoc of a 
few days before was gone. New guards were patrolling 
the trail. Freckles was roughly laying off the swamp in 
sections and searching for marked trees. In that time he 
had found one deeply chipped and the chip cunningly 
replaced and tacked in. It promised to be quite rare, so 
he was jubilant. He also found so many subjects for the 
Bird Woman that her coming was of almost daily occur- 
rence, and the hours he spent with her and the Angel were 
nothing less than golden. 

The Limberlost was now arrayed as the Queen of Sheba 
in all her glory. The first frosts of autumn had bejewelled 
her crown in flashing topaz, ruby, and emerald. Around 
her feet trailed the purple of her garments, while in her 
hand was her golden sceptre. Everything was at full tide. 
It seemed as if nothing could grow lovelier, and it was all 
standing still a few weeks, waiting coming destruction. 

253 


FRECKLES 


254 

The swamp was palpitant with life. Every pair of birds 
that had docked to it in the spring was now multiplied by 
from two to ten. The young were tame from Freckles* 
tri-parenthood, and so plump and sleek that they were 
quite as beautiful as their elders, even if in many cases 
they lacked their brilliant plumage. It was the same 
story of increase everywhere. There were chubby little 
ground-hogs scudding on the trail. There were cunning 
baby coons and opossums peeping from hollow logs and 
trees. Young muskrats followed their parents across the 
lagoons. 

If you could come upon a family of foxes that had not 
yet disbanded, and see the young playing with a wild 
duck's carcass that their mother had brought, and note 
the pride and satisfaction in her eyes as she lay at one side 
guarding them, it would be a picture not to be forgotten 
Freckles never tired of studying the devotion of a fox® 
mother to her babies. To him, whose early life had been 
so embittered by continual proof of neglect and cruelty in 
human parents toward their children, the love of these 
furred and feathered folk of the Limberlost was even more 
of a miracle than to the Bird Woman and the Angel. 

The Angel liked the baby rabbits and squirrels. Earlier 
in the season, when the young were yet very small, it so 
happened that at times Freckles could give into her hands 
one of these little ones. Then it was pure joy to stand 
back and watch her heaving breast, flushed cheek, and 
shining eyes. Hers were such lovely eyes. Freckles had 
discovered lately that they were not so dark as he had 
thought them at first, but that the length and thickness of 


TAKING A PICTURE 255 

lash, by which they were shaded, made them appear 
darker than they really were. They were forever chang- 
ing. Now sparkling and darkling with wit, now humid 
with sympathy, now burning with the fire of courage, now 
taking on strength of colour with ambition, now flashing 
indignantly at the abuse of any creature. 

She had carried several of the squirrel and bunny babies 
home, and had littered the conservatory with them. Her 
care of them was perfect. She was learning her natural 
history from nature, and having much healthful exercise* 
To her, they were the most interesting of all, but the Bird 
Woman preferred the birds, with a close second in the 
moths and butterflies. 

Brown butterfly time had come. The edge of the swale 
was filled with milkweed, and other plants beloved of them, 
and the air was golden with the flashing satin wings of the 
monarch, viceroy, and argynnis. They outnumbered those 
of any other colour three to one. 

Among the birds it really seemed as if the little yellow 
fellows were in the preponderance. At least, they were 
until the red-winged blackbirds and bobolinks, that had 
nested on the upland, suddenly saw in the swamp the 
garden of the Lord and came swarming by hundreds to 
feast and adventure upon it these last few weeks before 
migration. Never was there a finer feast spread for the 
birds. The grasses were filled with seeds: so, too, were 
weeds of every variety. Fall berries were ripe. Wild 
grapes and black haws were ready. Bugs were creeping 
everywhere. The muck was yeasty with worms. In- 
sects filled the air. Nature made glorious pause for holi- 


FRECKLES 


256 

day before her next change, and by none of the frequenters 
of the swamp was this more appreciated than by the big 
black chickens. 

They seemed to feel the new reign of peace and fulness 
most of all. As for food, they did not even have to hunt 
for themselves these days, for the feasts now being spread 
before Little Chicken were more than he could use, and he 
was glad to have his parents come down and help him 

He was a fine, big, overgrown fellow, and his wings, with 
quills of jetty black, gleaming with bronze, were so strong 
they almost lifted his body. He had three inches of tail, 
and his beak and claws were sharp. His muscles began to 
clamour for exercise. He raced the forty feet of his home 
back and forth many times every hour of the day. After 
a few days of that, he began lifting and spreading his 
wings, and flopping them until the down on his back was 
filled with elm fibre. Then he commenced jumping. The 
funny little hops, springs, and sidewise bounds he gave set 
Freckles and the Angel, hidden in the swamp, watching 
him, into smothered chuckles of delight. 

Sometimes he fell to coquetting with himself; and that 
was the funniest thing of all, for he turned his head up, 
down, from side to side, and drew in his chin with prinky 
little jerks and tilts. He would stretch his neck, throw up 
his head, turn it to one side and smirk — actually smirk, the 
most complacent and self-satisfied smirk that any one ever 
saw on the face of a bird. It was so comical that Freckles 
and the Angel told the Bird Woman of it one day. 

When she finished her work on Little Chicken, she left 
them the camera ready for use, telling them they might 


TAKING A PICTURE 


257 

hide in the bushes and watch. If Little Chicken came 
out and truly smirked, and they could squeeze the bulb 
at the proper moment to snap him, she would be more than 
delighted. 

Freckles and the Angel quietly curled beside a big log, 
and with eager eyes and softest breathing they patiently 
waited; but Little Chicken had feasted before they told 
of his latest accomplishment. He was tired and sleepy, 
so he went into the log to bed, and for an hour he never 
stirred. 

They were becoming anxious, for the light soon would 
be gone, and they had so wanted to try for the picture. 
At last Little Chicken lifted his head, opened his beak, 
and gaped widely. He dozed a minute or two more. The 
Angel said that was his beauty sleep. Then he lazily 
gaped again and stood up, stretching and yawning. He 
ambled leisurely toward the gateway, and the Angel said: 
“Now, we may have a chance, at last.” 

“I do hope so,” shivered Freckles. 

With one accord they arose to their knees and trained 
their eyes on the mouth of the log. The light was full 
and strong. Little Chicken prospected again with no 
results. He dressed his plumage, polished his beak, and 
when he felt fine and in full toilet he began to flirt with 
himself. Freckles’ eyes snapped and his breath sucked 
between his clenched teeth. 

“He’s going to do it!” whispered the Angel. “That 
will come next. You’d best give me that bulb ! ” 

“Yis,” assented Freckles, but he was looking at the 
log and he made no move to relinquish the bulb. 


FRECKLES 


258 

Little Chicken nodded daintily and ruffled his feathers 
He gave his head sundry little sidewise jerks and rapidly 
shifted his point of vision. Once there was the fleeting 
little ghost of a smirk. 

“Now! — No!” snapped the Angel. 

Freckles leaned toward the bird. Tensely he waited. 
Unconsciously the hand of the Angel clasped his. He 
scarcely knew it was there. Suddenly Little Chicken 
sprang straight in the air and landed with a thud. The 
Angel started slightly, but Freckles was immovable. 
Then, as if in approval of his last performance, the big, 
overgrown baby wheeled until he was more than three- 
quarters, almost full side, toward the camera, straightened 
on his legs, squared his shoulders, stretched his neck full 
height, drew in his chin and smirked his most pronounced 
smirk, directly in the face of the lens. 

Freckles’ fingers closed on the bulb convulsively, and the 
Angel’s closed on his at the instant. Then she heaved a 
great sigh of relief and lifted her hands to push back the 
damp, clustering hair from her face. 

“How soon do you s’pose it will be finished?” came 
Freckles’ strident whisper. 

For the first time the Angel looked at him. He was 
on his knees, leaning forward, his eyes directed toward the 
bird, the perspiration running in little streams down his 
red, mosquito-bitten face. His hat was awry, his bright 
hair rampant, his breast heaving with excitement, while 
he yet gripped the bulb with every ounce of strength in 
his body. 

“ Do you think we were for getting it ? ” he asked: 


TAKING A PICTURE 259 

The Angel could only nod. Freckles heaved a deep 
sigh of relief. 

“Well, if that ain’t the hardest work I ever did in me 
life!” he exclaimed. “It’s no wonder the Bird Woman’s 
for coming out of the swamp looking as if she’s been 
through a fire, a flood, and a famine, if that’s what she 
goes through day after day. But if you think we got it, 
why, it’s worth all it took, and I’m glad as ever you are, 
sure!” 

They put the holders in the case, carefully closed the 
camera, set it in also, and carried it to the road. 

Then Freckles exulted. 

“Now, let’s be telling the Bird Woman about it!” 
he shouted, wildly dancing and swinging his hat. 

“We got it! We got it! I bet a farm we got it!” 

Hand in hand they ran to the north end of the swamp, 
yelling “We got it!” like young Comanches, and never 
gave a thought to what they might do until a big blue- 
gray bird, with long neck and trailing legs, arose on flap- 
ping wings and sailed over the Limberlost. 

The Angel became white to the lips and gripped Freckles 
with both hands. He gulped with mortification and 
turned his back. 

To frighten her subject away carelessly! It was the 
head crime in the Bird Woman’s category. She extended 
her hands as she arose, baked, blistered, and dripping, 
and exclaimed: “Bless you, my children! Bless you!” 
And it truly sounded as if she meant it. 

“Why, why ” stammered the bewildered AngeL 

Freckles hurried into the breach. 


26 o 


FRECKLES 


“You must be for blaming it every bit on me. I 
was thinking we got Little Chicken’s picture real good. 
I was so drunk with the joy of it I lost all me senses 
and, ‘Let’s run tell the Bird Woman,’ says I. Like 
a fool I was for running, and I sort of dragged the Angel 
along.” 

“Oh Freckles!” expostulated the Angel. “Are you 
loony? Of course, it was all my fault! I’ve been with 
her hundreds of times. I knew perfectly well that I 
wasn’t to let anything — not anything — scare her bird 
away! I was so crazy I forgot. The blame is all mine, 
and she’ll never forgive me.” 

“She will, too!” cried Freckles. “Wasn’t you for 
telling me that very first day that when people scared her 
birds away she just killed them! It’s all me foolishness, 
and I’ll never forgive meself!” 

The Bird Woman plunged into the swale at the mouth 
of Sleepy Snake Creek, and came wading toward them, 
with a couple of cameras and dripping tripods. 

“If you will permit me a word, my infants,” she said, 
“I will explain to you that I have had three shots at that 
fellow.” 

The Angel heaved a deep sigh of relief, and Freckles’ 
face cleared a little. 

“Two of them,” continued the Bird Woman, “in the 
rushes — one facing, crest lowered; one light on back, 
crest flared; and the last on wing, when you came up. I 
simply had been praying for something to make him arise 
from that side, so that he would fly toward the camera, 
for he had waded around until in my position I couldn’t 


TAKING A PICTURE 261 

do it myself. See? Behold in yourselves the answer 
to the prayers of the long-suffering'” 

Freckles took a step toward her. 

“Are you really meaning that?” he asked, wonder* 
ingly. “Only think, Angel, we did the right thing! Shs 
won’t lose her picture through the carelessness of us* 
when she’s waited and soaked nearly two hours. She’s 
not angry with usl” 

“Never was in a sweeter temper in my life,” said the 
Bird Woman, busily cleaning and packing the cameras. 

Freckles removed his hat and solemnly held out his 
hand. With equal solemnity the Angel grasped it. The 
Bird Woman laughed alone, for to them the situation had 
been too serious to develop any of the elements of fun. 

Then they loaded the carriage, and the Bird Woman 
and the Angel started for their homes. It had been a 
difficult time for all of them, so they were very tired, but 
they were joyful. Freckles was so happy it seemed to 
him that life could hold little more. As the Bird Woman 
was ready to drive away he laid his hand on the lines and 
looked into her face. 

“Do you suppose we got it?” he asked, so eagerly that 
she would have given much to be able to say yes with 
conviction. 

“Why, my dear, I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve no way 
to judge. If you made the exposure just before you came 
Co me, there was yet a fine light. If you waited until 
Little Chicken was close the entrance, you should have 
something good, even if you didn’t catch just the fleeting 
expression for which you hoped. Of course, I can’t say 


262 


FRECKLES 


surely, but I think there is every reason to believe that 
you have it all right. I will develop the plate to-night, 
make you a proof from it early in the morning, and bring 
it when we come. It’s only a question of a day or two 
now until the gang arrives. I want to work in all the 
studies I can before that time, for they are bound to dis- 
turb the birds. Mr. McLean will need you then, and I 
scarcely see how we are to do without you.” 

Moved by an impulse she never afterwards regretted, 
she bent and laid her lips on Freckles’ forehead, kissing 
him gently and thanking him for his many kindnesses 
to her in her loved work. Freckles started away so happy 
that he felt inclined to keep watching behind to see if the 
trail were not curling up and rolling down the line aftet 
him. 


CHAPTER XVI 


Wherein the Angel Locates a Rare Tree 
and Dines with the Gang 


i 



















CHAPTER XVI 


Wherein the Angel Locates a Rare Tree and Dines 
with the Gang 



ROM afar Freckles saw them coming. The Angel 


was standing, waving her hat. He sprang on 


JL his wheel and raced, jolting and pounding, down 
the corduroy to meet them. The Bird Woman stopped 
the horse and the Angel gave him the bit of print paper. 
Freckles leaned the wheel against a tree and took the 
proof with eager fingers. He never before had seen a 
study from any of his chickens. He stood staring. When 
he turned his face toward them it was transfigured with 
delight. 

“You see!” he exclaimed, and began gazing again. 
“Oh, me Little Chicken!” he cried. “Oh me ilegant 
Little Chicken! I’d be giving all me money in the bank 
for you!” 

Then he thought of the Angel’s muff and Mrs. Duncan’s 
hat, and added, “or at least, all but what I’m needing 
bad for something else. Would you mind stopping at the 
cabin a minute and showing this to Mother Duncan?” he 
asked. 

“Give me that little book in your, pocket,” said the 
Bird Woman. 

She folded the outer edges of the proof so that it would 


265, 


266 


FRECKLES 


fit into the book, explaining as she did so its perishable 
nature in that state. Freckles went hurrying ahead, 
and they arrived in time to see Mrs. Duncan gazing as 
if awestruck, and to hear her bewildered: “Weel I be 
d i awed on!” 

Freckles and the Angel helped the Bird Woman to 
establish herself for a long day at the mouth of Sleepy 
Snake Creek. Then she sent them away and waited 
what luck would bring to her. 

“Now, what shall we do?” inquired the Angel, who was 
a bundle of nerves and energy. 

“Would you like to go to me room awhile?” asked 
Freckles. 

“ If you don’t care to very much, I’d rather not,” said the 
Angel. “I’ll tell you. Let’s go help Mrs. Duncan with 
dinner and play with the baby. I love a nice, clean 
baby.” 

They started toward the cabin. Every few minutes 
they stopped to investigate something or to chatter over 
some natural history wonder. The Angel had quick eyes; 
she seemed to see everything, but Freckles’ were even 
quicker; for life itself had depended on their sharpness ever 
since the beginning of his work at the swamp. They saw 
it at the same time. 

“Some one has been making a flagpole,” said the Angel, 
running the toe of her shoe around the stump, evidently 
made that season. “Freckles, what would any one cut a 
tree as small as that for?” 

“I don’t know,” said Freckles 

“Well, but I want to know!” said the Angel. “No one 


THE ANGEL LOCATES A TREE 


267 

came away here and cut it for fun. They’ve taken it away. 
Let’s go back and see if we can see it anywhere around 
there.” 

She turned, retraced her footsteps, and began eagerly 
searching. Freckles did the same. 

“There it is!” he exclaimed at last, “leaning against the 
trunk of that big maple.” 

“Yes, and leaning there has killed a patch of driedbark.” 
said the Angel. “See how dried it appears?” 

Freckles stared at her. 

“Angel!” he shouted, “I bet you it’s a marked tree!” 

“Course it is!” cried the Angel. “No one would cut 
that sapling and carry it away there and lean it up for 
nothing. I’ll tell you! This is one of Jack’s marked 
trees. He’s climbed up there above any one’s head, peeled 
the bark, and cut into the grain enough to be sure. Then 
he’s laid the bark back and fastened it with that pole to 
mark it. You see, there’re a lot of other big maples close 
around it. Can you climb to that place?” 

“Yes,” said Freckles; “if I take off my wading-boots 
I can.” 

“Then take them off,” said the Angel, “and do hurry! 
Can’t you see that I am almost crazy to know if this tree if 
a marked one?” 

When they pushed the sapling over, a piece of bark as 
big as the crown of Freckles’ hat fell away. 

“I believe it looks kind of nubby,” encouraged th^ 
Angel, backing away, with her face all screwed into a twist 
in an effort to intensify her vision. 

Freckles reached the opening, then slid rapidly to the 


268 FRECKLES 

ground. He was almost breathless while his eyes were 
flashing. 

“The bark’s been cut clean with a knife, the sap scraped 
away, and a big chip taken out deep. The trunk is the 
twistiest thing you ever saw. It’s full of eyes as a bird is of 
feathers!” 

The Angel was dancing and shaking his hand. 

“Oh, Freckles,” she cried, “I’m so delighted that you 
!bund it!” 

“But I didn’t,” said the astonished Freckles. “That 
tree isn’t my find ; it’s yours. I forgot it and was going on ; 
you wouldn’t give up, and kept talking about it, and turned 
back. You found it!” 

“You’d best be looking after your reputation for truth 
and veracity,” said the Angel. “You know you saw that 
sapling first!” 

“Yes, after you took me back and set me looking for it,” 
scoffed Freckles. 

The clear, ringing echo of strongly swung axes came 
crashing through the Limberlost. 

“’Tis the gang!” shouted Freckles. “They’re clearing 
a place to make the camp. Let’s go help!” 

“Hadn’t we better mark that tree again?” cautioned 
the Angel. “It’s away in here. There’s such a lot of 
them, and all so much alike. We’d feel good and green to 
find it and then lose it.” 

Freckles lifted the sapling to replace it, but the Angel 
motioned him away. 

“Use your hatchet,” she said. “I predict this is the 
most valuable tree in the swamp. You found it. I’m 


THE ANGEL LOCATES A TREE 269 

going to play that you’re my knight. Now, you nail my 
colours on it.” 

She reached up, and pulling a blue bow from her hair, 
untied and doubled it against the tree. Freckles turned 
his eyes from her and managed the fastening with shaking 
fingers. The Angel had called him her knight! Dear 
Lord, how he loved her! She must not see his face, or 
surely her quick eyes would read what he was fighting to 
hide. He did not dare lay his lips on that ribbon then, but 
that night he would return to it. When they had gone a 
little distance, they both looked back, and the morning 
breeze set the bit of blue waving them a farewell. 

They walked at a rapid pace. 

“I am sorry about scaring the birds,” said the Angel, 
'‘but it’s almost time for them to go anyway. I feel 
dreadfully over having the swamp ruined, but isn’t it a 
delight to hear the good, honest ring of those axes, instead 
of straining your ears for stealthy sounds ? Isn’t it fine to 
go openly and freely, with nothing worse than a snake or a 
poison vine to fear?” 

“Ah!” said Freckles, with a long breath, “it’s better 
than you can dream, Angel. Nobody will ever be guessing 
some of the things I’ve been through trying to keep me 
promise to the Boss, and to hold out until this day. That 
it’s come with only one fresh stump, and the log from that 
saved, and this new tree to report, isn’t it grand? Maybe 
Mr. McLean will be forgetting that stump when he sees 
this tree, Angel ! ” 

“He can’t forget it,” said the Angel; and in answer to 
Freckles’ startled eyes ,she added, “because he never had 


FRECKLES 


270 

any reason to remember it. He couldn’t have done a whit 
better himself. My father says so. You’re all right, 
Freckles!” 

She reached him her hand, and as two children, they 
broke into a run when they came closer the gang. They 
left the swamp by the west road and followed the trail 
until they found the men. To the Angel it seemed com- 
plete charm. In the shadiest spot on the west side of the 
line, at the edge of the swamp and very close Freckles’ 
room, they were cutting bushes and clearing space for a big 
tent for the men’s sleeping-quarters, another for a dining- 
hall, and a board shack for the cook. The teamsters were 
unloading, the horses were cropping leaves from the 
bushes, while each man was doing his part toward the con- 
struction of the new Limberlost quarters. 

Freckles helped the Angel climb on a wagon-load of 
canvas in the shade. She removed her leggings, wiped her 
heated face, and glowed with happiness and interest. 

The gang had been sifted carefully; McLean now felt 
that there was not a man in it who was not trustworthy 

They all had heard of the Angel’s plucky ride for 
Freckles’ relief; several of them had been in the rescue 
party. Others, new since that time, had heard the tale re- 
hearsed in its every aspect around the smudge-fires at 
night. Almost all of them knew the Angel by sight from 
her trips with the Bird Woman to their leases. They all 
knew her father, her position, and the luxuries of her home. 
Whatever course she had chosen with them they scarcely 
would have resented it, but the Angel never had been 
known to choose a course. Her spirit of friendliness was 


THE ANGEL LOCATES A TREE 


271 

inborn and inbred. She loved every one, so she sympa- 
thized with every one. Her generosity was only limited 
by what was in her power to give. 

She came down the trail, hand in hand with the red- 
haired, freckled timber-guard whom she had worn herself 
past the limit of endurance to save only a few weeks before, 
racing in her eagerness to reach them, and laughing her 
“ Good-morning, gentlemen,” right and left. When she 
was ensconced on the wagon-load of tenting, she sat on a 
roll of canvas as a queen on her throne. There was not a 
man of the gang who did not respect her. She was a 
living exponent of universal brotherhood. There was no 
man among them who needed her exquisite face or dainty 
clothing to teach him that the deference due a gentle- 
woman should be paid her. That the spirit of good-fellow- 
ship she radiated levied an especial tribute of its own, and 
it became their delight to honour and please her. 

As they raced toward the wagon — “Let me tell about 
the tree, please ?” she begged Freckles. 

“Why, sure!” said Freckles. 

He probably would have said the same to anything she 
suggested. When McLean came, he found the Angel 
flushed and glowing, sitting on the wagon, her hands al- 
ready filled. One of the men, who was cutting a scrub-oak, 
had carried to her a handful of crimson leaves. An- 
other had gathered a bunch of delicate marsh-grass heads 
for her. Some one else, in taking out a bush, had found a 
daintily built ‘*nd lined little nest, fresh as when made. 

She held up ler treasures and greeted McLean, “Good- 
morning, *r. Soss of the LimberlosH” 


272 FRECKLES 

The gang shouted, while he bowed profoundly before 
her. 

“Every one listen !” cried the Angel, climbing a roll of 
canvas. “I have something to say! Freckles has been 
guarding here over a year now, and he presents the Limber- 
lost to you, with every tree in it saved ; for good measure he 
lias this morning located the rarest one of them all: the one 
in from the east line, that Wessner spoke of the first day — • 
nearest the one you took out. All together! Everyone! 
Hurrah for Freckles !” 

With flushing cheeks and gleaming eyes, gaily waving 
the grass above her head, she led in three cheers and a tiger. 
Freckles slipped into the swamp and hid himself, for fear 
he could not conceal his pride and his great surging, throb- 
bing love for her. 

The Angel subsided on the canvas and explained to 
McLean about the maple. The Boss was mightily pleased. 
He took Freckles and set out to re-locate and examine the 
tree. The Angel was interested in the making of the camp, 
so she preferred to remain with the men. With her sharp 
eyes she was watching every detail of construction; but 
when it came to the stretching of the dining-hall canvas 
she proceeded to take command. The men were driving 
the rope-pins, when the Angel arose on the wagon and, 
leaning forward, spoke to Duncan, who was directing the 
work. 

“I believe if you will swing that around a few feet 
farther, you will find it better, Mr, Duncan,” she said. 
“That way will let the hot sun in at noon, while the sides 
wi)l cut off the best breeze.” 


THE ANGEL LOCATES A TREE 273 

That’s a fact,” said Duncan, studying the condi- 
tions. 

So, by shifting the pins a little, they obtained comfort 
for which they blessed the Angel every day. When they 
came to the sleeping-tent, they consulted her about that. 
She explained the general direction of the night breeze 
and indicated the best position for the tent. Before 
any one knew how it happened, the Angel was standing 
on the wagon, directing the location and construction 
of the cooking-shack, the erection of the crane for the 
big boiling-pots, and the building of the store-room. She 
superintended the laying of the floor of the sleeping-tent 
lengthwise, so that it would be easier to sweep, and sug- 
gested a new arrangement of the cots that would afford 
all the men an equal share of night breeze. She left the 
wagon, and climbing on the newly erected dining-table, 
advised with the cook in placing his stove, table, and kit- 
chen utensils. 

When Freckles returned from the tree to join in the 
work around the camp, he caught glimpses of her en- 
throned on a soap-box, cleaning beans. She called to 
him that they were invited for dinner, and that they had 
accepted the invitation. 

When the beans were steaming in the pot, the Angel 
advised the cook to soak them overnight the next time, 
so that they would cook more quickly and not burst. 
She was sure their cook at home did that way, and the 
chef of the gang thought it would be a good idea. The 
next Freckles saw of her she was paring potatoes. A 
little later she arranged the table. 


FRECKLES 


274 

She swept it with a broom, instead of laying a cloth; 
took the hatchet and hammered the deepest dents from 
the tin plates, and nearly skinned her fingers scouring 
the tinware with rushes. She set the plates an even dis- 
tance apart, and laid the forks and spoons beside them. 
When the cook threw away half a dozen fruit-cans, she 
gathered them up and melted off the tops, although she 
almost blistered her face and quite blistered her fingers 
doing it. Then she neatly covered these improvised 
vases with the manilla paper from the groceries, tying 
with wisps of marsh-grass. These she filled with fringed 
gentians, blazing-star, asters, golden-rod, and ferns, plac- 
ing them the length of the dining-table. In one of the 
end cans she arranged her red leaves, and in the other the 
fancy grass. Two men, watching her, went away proud 
of themselves and said that she was “a born lady.” She 
laughingly caught up a paper bag and fitted it jauntily 
to her head in imitation of a cook’s cap. Then she ground 
the coffee, and be^t a couple of eggs to put in, “because 
there is company,” she gravely explained to the cook. 
She asked that delighted individual if he did not like it 
best that way, and he said he did not know, because he 
never had a chance to taste it. The Angel said that was 
her case exactly — she never had, either; she was not al- 
lowed anything stronger than milk. Then they laughed 
together. 

She told the cook about camping with her father, and 
explained that he made his coffee that way. When the 
steam began to rise from the big boiler, she stuffed the 
spout tightly with clean marsh-grass, to keep the aromz ; 


THE ANGEL LOCATES A TREE 


27S 

in, placed the boiler where it would only simmer, and ex* 
plained why. The influence of the Angel’s visit lingered 
with the cook through the remainder of his life, while the 
men prayed for her frequent return. 

She was having a happy time, when McLean came back 
jubilant, from his trip to the tree. How jubilant he told 
anly the Angel, for he had been obliged to lose faith in 
some trusted men of late, and had learned discretion by 
what he suffered. He planned to begin clearing out a 
road to the tree that same afternoon, and to set two guards 
every night, for it promised to be a rare treasure, so he 
was eager to see it on the way to the mills. 

“I am coming to see it felled,” cried the Angel. “I 
feel a sort of motherly interest in that tree.” 

McLean was highly amused. He would have staked 
his life on the honesty of either the Angel or Freckles; 
yet their versions of the finding of the tree differed 
widely. 

‘‘Tell me, Angel,” the Boss said jestingly; “I think 
I have a right to know. Who really did locate that 
tree?” 

“Freckles,” she answered, promptly and emphatically. 

“But he says quite as positively that it was you. I 
don’t understand.” 

The Angel’s legal look flashed into her face. Her eyes 
grew tense with earnestness. She glanced around, and 
seeing no towel or basin, held out her hand for Sears to 
pour water over them. Then, using the skirt of her dress 
to dry them, she climbed on the wagon. 

“I’ll tell you, word for word, how it happened,” she 


ij6 FRECKLES 

said, “and then you shall decide, and Freckles and I wil) 
agree with you.” 

When she had finished her version, “Tell us, ‘oh, mos{ 
learned judge!’” she laughingly quoted, “which of us 
located that tree?” 

“Blest if I know who located it!” exclaimed McLean. 
“But I have a fairly accurate idea as to who put the blue 
ribbon on it.” 

The Boss smiled significantly at Freckles, who just had 
come, for they had planned that they would instruct the 
company to reserve enough of the veneer from that very 
tree to make the most beautiful dressing-table they could 
design for the Angel’s share of the discovery. 

“What will you have for yours?” McLean had asked 
of Freckles. 

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll be taking mine out in 
music lessons — begging your pardon — voice culture,” 
said Freckles, with a grimace. 

McLean laughed, for Freckles needed to see or hear 
only once to absorb learning as the thirsty earth sucks 
up water. 

The Angel placed McLean at the head of the table. 
She took the foot, with Freckles on her right, while the 
lumber-gang, washed, brushed, and straightened until 
they felt unfamiliar with themselves and each other, 
filled the sides. That imposed a slight constraint. Then, 
too, the men were afraid of the flowers, the polished table- 
ware, and above all, of the dainty grace of the Angel. 
Nowhere do men so display lack of good breeding and 
culture as in dining. To sprawl on the table, scoop with 


THE ANGEL LOCATES A TREE 277 

their knives, chew loudly, gulp coffee, and duck their 
heads as snapping-turtles for every bite, had not been 
noticed by them until the Angel, sitting straightly, sud- 
denly made them remember that they, too, were possessed 
of spines. Instinctively every man at the table straight- 
ened 



CHAPTER XVII 

Wherein Freckles Offers His Life for His Love 
and Gets a Broken Body 



CHAPTER XVII 


Wherein Freckles Offers His Life for His Love and 
Gets a Broken Body 

T O REACH the tree was a more difficult task than 
McLean had supposed, ^he gang could approach 
nearest on the outside toward the east, but 
after they reached the end of the east entrance there was 
yet a mile of most impenetrable thicket, trees big and 
little, and bushes of every variety and stage of growth. 
In many places the muck had to be filled to give the 
horses and wagons a solid foundation over which to haul 
heavy loads. It was several days before they com- 
pleted a road to the noble, big tree and were ready to 
fell it. 

When the sawing began, Freckles was watching down 
the road where it met the trail leading from Little Chick- 
en’s tree. He had gone to the tree ahead of the gang 
to remcrr the blue ribbon. Carefully folded, it now lay 
over his heart. He was promising himself much comfort 
with that ribbon, when he would leave for the city next 
month to begin his studies and dream the summer over 
again. It would help to make things tangible. When he 
was dressed as other men, and at his work, he knew where 
he meant to home that precious bit of blue. It should be 
his good-luck token, and he would wear it always to keep 
2$l 


282 FRECKLES 

bright in memory the day on which the Angel had called 
him her knight. 

How he would study, and oh, how he would sing! If 
only he could fulfil McLean's expectations, and make the 
Angel proud of him! If only he could be a real knight! 

He could not understand why the Angel had failed 
to come. She had wanted to see their tree felled. She 
would be too late if she did not arrive soon. He had told 
her it would be ready that morning, and she had said she 
surely would be there Why, of all mornings, was she 
late on this? 

McLean had ridden to town. If he had been there, 
Freckles would have asked that they delay the felling, 
but he scarcely liked to ask the gang. He really had no 
authority, although he thought the men would wait; but 
some way he found such embarrassment in framing the 
request that he waited until the work was practically 
ended. The saw was out, and the men were cutting into 
the felling side of the tree when the Boss rode in. 

His first word was to inquire for the Angel. When 
Freckles said she had not yet come, the Boss at once 
gave orders to stop work on the tree until she arrived ; for 
he felt that she virtually had located it, and if 1 . desired 
to see it felled, she should. As the men stepped back, a 
stiff morning breeze caught the top, that towered high 
above its fellows. There was an ominous grinding at 
the base, a shiver of the mighty trunk, then directly in 
line of its fall the bushes swung apart and the laughing 
face of the Angel looked on them. 

A groan of horror burst from the dry throats of the 


OFFERS HIS LIFE 283 

men, and reading the agony in their faces, she stopped 
jhort, glanced up, and understood. 

“South !” shouted McLean. “Run south ! ,f 

The Angel was helpless. It was apparent that she 
did not know which way south was. There was another 
slow shiver of the big tree. The remainder of the gang 
stood motionless, but Freckles sprang past the trunk and 
went leaping in big bounds. He caught up the Angel and 
dashed through the thicket for safety. The swaying 
trunk was half over when, for an instant, a near-by tree 
stayed its fall. They saw Freckles’ foot catch, and with 
the Angel he plunged headlong. 

A terrible cry broke from the men, while McLean cov- 
ered his face. Instantly Freckles was up, with the Angel 
in his arms, struggling on. The outer limbs were on 
them when they saw Freckles hurl the Angel, face down, 
in the muck, as far from him as he could send her. Spring- 
ing after, in an attempt to cover her body with his own, he 
whirled to see if they were yet in danger, and with out- 
stretched arms braced himself for the shock. The 
branches shut them from sight, and the awful crash rocked 
the earth. 

McLean and Duncan ran with axes and saws. The re- 
mainder of the gang followed, and they worked desper- 
ately. It seemed a long time before they caught a glimpse 
of the Angel’s blue dress, but it renewed their vigour. 
Duncan fell an his knees beside her and tore the muck 
from underneath her with his hands. In a few seconds he 
dragged her out, choking and stunned, but surely not 
totally hurt. 


FRECKLES 


284 

Freckles lay a little farther under the tree, a big limb 
pinning him down. His eyes were wide open. He was 
perfectly conscious. Duncan began mining beneath him, 
but Freckles stopped him. 

“ You can’t be moving me,” he said. “ You must cut off 
the limb and lift it. I know.” 

Two men ran for the big saw. A number of them laid 
hold of the limb and bore up. In a short time it was re- 
moved, and Freckles lay free. 

The men bent over to lift him, but he motioned them 
away. 

“Don’t be touching me until I rest a bit,” he pleaded. 

Then he twisted his head until he saw the Angel, who 
was wiping muck from her eyes and face on the skirt of her 
dress. 

“Try to get up,” he begged. 

McLean laid hold of the Angel and helped her to her feet 

“Do you think any bones are broken?” gasped Freckles : 

The Angel shook her head and wiped muck. 

“You see if you can find any, sir,” Freckles com- 
manded. 

The Angel yielded herself to McLean’s touch, and he 
assured Freckles that she was not seriously injured. 

Freckles settled back, a smile of ineffable tenderness oi! 
his face. 

“Thank the Lord!” he hoarsely whispered. 

The Angel leaned toward him. 

“Now, Freckles, you!” she <:ried. “It’s your turn. 
Please get up!” 

A pitiful spasm swept Freckles’ face. The sight of if 



“ * Now, Freckles, you ! 5 she cried. ‘It’s your turn. 

Please set ud! ’ ” 







OFFERS HIS LIFE 

washed every vestige of colour from the Angel’s. She took 
hold of his hands. 

“ Freckles, get up!” 

It was half command, half entreaty. 

“Easy, Angel, easy! Let me rest a bit first!” implored 
Freckles. 

She knelt beside him. He reached his arm around her 
and drew her closely. He looked at McLean in an agony 
of entreaty that brought the Boss to his knees on the other 
side. 

“Oh, Freckles!” McLean cried. “Not that! Surely 
we can do something! We must! Let me see!” 

He tried to unfasten Freckles’ neck-band, but his fingers 
shook so clumsily that the Angel pushed them away and 
herself laid Freckles’ chest bare. With one hasty glance 
she gathered the clothing together and slipped her arm 
under his head. Freckles lifted his eyes of agony to hers. 

“You see?” he said. 

The Angel nodded dumbly. 

Freckles turned to McLean. 

^ Thank you for everything,” he panted. “Where are 
the boys?” 

“They are all here,” said the Boss, “except a couple 
who have gone for doctors, Mrs. Duncan and the Bird 
Woman.” 

“It’s no use trying to do anything,” said Freckles. 
“You won’t forget the muff and the Christmas box. The 
muff especial?” 

There was a movement above them so pronounced that 
it attracted Freckles’ attention, even in that extreme hour* 


*86 FRECKLES 

He looked up, and a pleased smile flickered on his drawn 
face. 

“Why, if it ain’t me Little Chicken!” he cried hoarsely, 
“ He must be making his very first trip from the log. Now 
Duncan can have his big watering-trough.” 

“It was Little Chicken that made me late,” faltered the 
Angel. “I was so anxious to get here early I forgot to 
bring his breakfast from the carriage. He must have been 
hungry, for when I passed the log he started after me. He 
was so wabbly, and so slow flying from tree to tree and 
through the bushes, I just had to wait on him, for I couldn’t 
drive him back.” 

“Of course you couldn’t! Me bird has too amazing good 
sinse to go back when he could be following you,” exulted 
Freckles, exactly as if he did not realize what the delay had 
cost him. Then he lay silently thinking, but presently he 
asked slowly: “And so ’twas me Little Chicken that war 
making you late, Angel?” 

“Yes,” said the Angel. 

A spasm of fierce pain shook Freckles, and a look of un- 
certainty crossed his face. 

“All summer I’ve been thanking God for the falling of 
the feather and all the delights it’s brought me,” he, 
muttered, “but this looks as if ” 

He stopped short and raised questioning eyes to 
McLean. 

“I can’t help being Irish, but I can help being super- 
stitious,” he said. “I mustn’t be laying it to the Al- 
mighty, or to me bird, must I ? ” 

“No, dear lad,” said McLean, stroking the brilliant 


OFFERS HIS LIFE 


287 

hair. “The choice lay with you. You could have stood a 
rooted dolt like all the remainder of us. It was through 
your great love and your high courage that you made the 
sacrifice.” 

“Don’t you be so naming k, sir!” cried Freckles. “It’s 
just the reverse. If I could be giving me body the hundred 
times over to save hers from this, I’d be doing it and take 
joy with every pain.” 

He turned with a smile of adoring tenderness to the 
Angel. She w T as ghastly white, and her eyes were dull and 
glazed. She scarcely seemed to hear or understand what 
was coming, but she bravely tried to answer that smile* 

“Is my forehead covered with dirt?” he asked. 

She shook her head. 

“You did once,” he gasped. 

Instantly she laid her lips on his forehead, then on each 
cheek, and then in a long kiss on his lips. 

McLean bent over him. 

“Freckles,” he said brokenly, “you will never know how 
1 love you. You w T on’t go without saying good-bye tc 
me?” 

That w T ord stung the Angel to quick comprehension* 
She started as if arousing from sleep. 

“Good-bye?” she cried sharply, her eyes widening and 
the colour rushing into her white face. “Good-bye! 
Why, what do you m^an ? Who’s saying good-bye ? Where 
could Freckles go, when he is hurt like this, save to the 
hospital? You needn’t say good-bye for that. Of course, 
we will all go with him! You call up the men. We must 
Start right away.” 


288 


FRECKLES 


“It’s no use, Angel,” said Freckles; “I’m thinking ivr j 
bone in me breast is smashed. You’ll have to be letting 
me go!” 

“ I will not,” said the Angel flatly. “ It’s ao use wasting 
precious time talking about it. You are alive. You are 
breathing; and no matter how badly your bones are broken, 
what are great surgeons for but to fix you up and make you 
well again ? You promise me that you’ll just grit your teeth 
and hang on when we hurt you, for we must start with you 
as quickly as it can be done. I don’t know what has been 
the matter with me. Here’s good time wasted already.” 

“Oh, Angel!” moaned Freckles, “I can’t! You don’t 
know how bad it is. I’ll die the minute you are for trying 
to lift me!” 

“Of course you will, if you make up your mind to do it,” 
*aid the Angel. “But if you are determined you won’t, 
and set yourself to breathing deep and strong, and hang on 
to me tight, I can get you out. Really you must, Freckles, 
no matter how it hurts, for you did this for me, and now 3 
must save you, so you might as well promise.” 

She bent over him, trying to smile encouragement with 
her fear-stiffened lips. 

“You will promise, Freckles?” 

Big drops of cold sweat ran together on Freckles* 
temples. 

“Angel, darlin’ Angel,” he pleaded, taking her hand in 
his. “You ain’t understanding, and I can’t for the life of 
me be telling you, but indade, it’s best to be letting me go. 
This is my chance. Please say good-bye, and let me slip 
off quick!” 


OFFERS HIS LIFE 


28g 

He appealed to McLean. 

“Dear Boss, you know! You be telling her that, for me ? 
living is far worse pain than dying. Tell her you know 
death is the best thing that could ever be happening tc 
me!” 

“Merciful Heaven!” burst in the Angel. “I can’t 
endure this delay!” 

She caught Freckles’ hand to her .breast, and bending 
over him, looked deeply into his stricken eyes. 

“‘Angel, I give you my word of honour that I will keep 
right on breathing.’ That’s what you are going to promise 
me,” she said. “Do you say it?” 

Freckles hesitated. 

“Freckles!” imploringly commanded the Angel, “you 
do say it 

“Yis,” gasped Freckles. 

The Angel sprang to her feet. 

“Then that’s all right,” she said, with a tinge of her old* 
time briskness. “You just keep breathing away like a 
steam-engine, and I will do all the remainder.” 

The eager men gathered around her. 

“It’s going to be a tough pull to get Freckles out,” she 
said, “but it’s our only chance, so listen closely and don’t 
for the lives of you fail me in doing quickly what I tell you. 
There’s no time to spend falling down over each other; we 
must have some system. You four there get on those 
wagon-horses and ride to the sleeping-tent. Get the 
stoutest cot, a couple of comforts, and a pillow. Ride 
back with them some way to save time. If you meet any 
other men of the gang, send them here to help carry the 


FRECKLES 


290 

cot. We won’t risk the jolt of driving with him. The 
others clear a path out to the road; and Mr. McLean, you 
take Nellie and ride to town. Tell my father how Freckles 
is hurt and that he risked it to save me. Tell him I’m 
going to take Freckles to Chicago on the noon train, and I 
want him to hold it if we are a little late. If he can’t, then 
have a special ready at the station and another on the 
Pittsburg at Fort Wayne, so we can go straight through. 
You needn’t mind leaving us. The Bird Woman will be 
here soon. We will rest a while.” 

She dropped into the muck beside Freckles and began 
stroking his hair and hand. He lay with his face of agony 
turned to hers, and fought to smother the groans that 
would tell her what he was suffering. 

When they stood ready to lift him, the Angel bent over 
him in a passion of tenderness. 

“Dear old Limberlost guard, we’re going to lift you 
now,” she said., “I suspect you will faint from the pain of 
it, but we will be as easy as ever we can, and don’t you dare 
forget your promise!” 

A whimsical half-smile touched Freckles’ quivering 
lips. 

“Angel, can a man be remembering a promise when he 
ain’t knowing?” he asked. 

“Vcvu can/’ s-ahl the Angel stoutly, “because a promise 
means so much more to you than it does to most men.” 

A look of strength flashed into Freckles’ face at her 
words. 

“I am ready,” he said. 

With the first touch his eyes closed, a mighty groan was 


OFFERS HIS LIFE 


291 

wrenched from him, and he lay senseless. The Angel 
gave Duncan one panic-stricken look. Then she set her 
lips and gathered her forces again. 

“I guess that’s a good thing,” she said. “Maybe he 
won’t feel how we are hurting him. Oh boys, are you 
being quick and gentle?” 

She stepped to the side of the cot and bathed Freckles* 
face. Taking his hand in hers, she gave the word to 
start. She told the men to ask every able-bodied man 
they met to join them so that they could change carriers 
often and make good time. 

The Bird Woman insisted upon taking the Angel into 
the carriage and following the cot, but she refused to leave 
Freckles, and suggested that the Bird Woman drive 
ahead, pack them some clothing, and be at the station 
ready to accompany them to Chicago. All the way the 
Angel walked beside the cot, shading Freckles’ face with a 
branch, and holding his hand. At every pause to change 
carriers she moistened his face and lips and watched each 
breath with heart-breaking anxiety. 

She scarcely knew when her father joined them, and 
taking the branch from her, slipped an arm around her 
waist and almost carried her. To the city streets and 
the swarm of curious, staring faces she paid no more 
attention than she had to the trees of the Limberlost. 
When the train came and the gang placed Freckles aboard 
big Duncan made a place for the Angel beside the cot. 

With the best physician to be found* and with the 
Bird Woman and McLean in attendance, the four-hours* 
run to Chicago began. The Angel constantly watched 


FRECKLES 


292 

over Freckles; bathed his face, stroked his hand, and 
gently fanned him. Not for an instant would she yield her 
place, or allow any one else to do anything for him. The 
Bird Woman and McLean regarded her in amazement. 
There seemed to be no end to her resources and courage. 
The only time she spoke was to ask McLean if he were 
sure the special would be ready on the Pittsburg road, 
He replied that it was made up and waiting. 

At five o’clock Freckles lay stretched on the operating-* 
table of Lake View Hospital, while three of the greatest 
surgeons in Chicago bent over him. At their command* 
McLean picked up the unwilling Angel and carried her 
to the nurses to be bathed, have her bruises attended, and 
to be put to bed. 

In a place where it is difficult to surprise people, they 
were astonished women as they removed the Angel’s 
dainty stained and torn clothing, drew off hose muck- 
baked to her limbs, soaked the dried loam from her silken 
hair, and washed the beautiful scratched, bruised, dirt- 
covered body. The Angel fell fast asleep long before 
they had finished, and lay deeply unconscious, while the 
fight for Freckles’ life was being waged. 

Three days later she was the same Angel as of old, ex* 
cept that Freckles was constantly in her thoughts. The 
anxiety and responsibility that she felt for his condition 
had bred in her a touch of womanliness and authority 
that was new. That morning she arose early and hovered 
near Freckles’ door. She had been allowed to remain 
with him constantly, for the nurses and surgeons had 
learned, with his returning consciousness, that for hei 


OFFERS HIS LIFE 


293 

alone would the active, highly strung, pain-racked sufferer 
be quiet and obey orders. When she was dropping from 
loss of sleep, the threat that she would fall ill had to be 
used to send her to bed. Then by telling Freckles that 
the Angel was asleep and they would waken her the 
moment he moved, they were able to control him for a 
short time. 

The surgeon was w T ith Freckles. The Angel had been 
fold that the word he brought that morning would be 
final, so she curled in a window-seat, dropped the cur- 
tains behind her, and in dire anxiety, waited the opening 
of the door. 

Just as it unclosed, McLean came hurrying down the 
hall and to the surgeon, but with one glance at his face 
he stepped back in dismay; while the Angel, who had 
arisen, sank to the seat again, too dazed to come forward. 
The men faced each other. The Angel, with parted lips 
and frightened eyes, bent forward in tense anxiety. 

“ I — I thought he was doing nicely?” faltered McLean. 

“He bore the operation well,” replied the surgeon, 
“and his wounds are not necessarily fatal. I told you 
that yesterday, but I did not tell you that something else 
probably would kill him; and it will. He need not die 
from the accident, but he will not live the day out.” 

“But why? What is it?” asked McLean, hurriedly. 
“We all dearly love the boy. We have millions among 
us to do anything that money can accomplish. Why 
must he die, if those broken bones are not the cause?” 

“That is what I am going to give you the opportunity 
to tell me,” replied the surgeon. “He need not die from 


FRECKLES 


294 

the accident, yet he is dying as fast as his splendid phys* 
ical condition will permit, and it is because he so evidently 
prefers death to life. If he were full of hope and ambition 
to live, my work would be easy. If all of you love him as 
you prove you do, and there is unlimited means to give 
him anything he wants, why should he desire death?” 

“Is he dying?” demanded McLean. 

“He is,” said the surgeon. “He will not live this day 
out, unless some strong reaction sets in at once. He is 
so low, that preferring death to life, nature cannot over- 
come his inertia. If he is to live, he must be made to 
desire life. Now he undoubtedly wishes for death, and 
that it come quickly.” 

“Then he must die,” said McLean. 

His broad shoulders shook convulsively. His strong 
hands opened and closed mechanically. 

“Does that mean that you know what he desires and 
cannot, or will not, supply it?” 

McLean groaned in misery. 

“It means,” he said desperately, “that I know what 
he wants, but it is as far removed from my power to 
help him as it would be to give him a star. The thing 
for which he will die, he can never have.” 

“Then you must prepare for the end very shortly,” 
said the surgeon, turning abruptly away. 

McLean caught his arm roughly. 

“You look here!” he cried in desperation. “You 
say that as if I could do something if I would. I tell you 
the boy is dear to me past expression. I would do any- 
thing — spend any sum. You have noticed and repeat- 


OFFERS HIS LIFE 


295 

edly commented on the young girl with me. It is that 
child that he wants! He worships her to adoration, and 
knowing he can never be anything to her, he prefers death 
to life. In God’s name, what can I do about it ? ” 

“ Barring that missing hand, I never examined a finer 
man,” said the surgeon, “and she seems perfectly devoted 
to him; why cannot he have her?” 

“Why?” echoed McLean. “Why? Well for many 
reasons! I told you he was my son. You probably knew 
that he was not. A little over a year ago I never had seen 
him. He joined one of my lumber-gangs from the road. 
He is a stray, left at one of your homes for the friendless 
here in Chicago. When he grew up the superintendent 
bound him to a brutal man. He ran away and landed 
in one of my lumber-camps. He has no name or knowl- 
edge of legal birth. The Angel — we have talked of her. 
You see what she is, physically and mentally. She has 
ancestors reaching back to Plymouth Rock, and across 
the sea for generations before that. She is an idolized, 
petted only child, and there is great wealth. Life holds 
everything for her, nothing for him. He sees it more 
plainly than any one else could. There is nothing for the 
boy but death, if it is the Angel that is required to save 
him.” 

The Angel stood between them. 

“Well, I just guess not!” she cried. “If Freckles 
wants me, all he has to do is to say so, and he can have 
me!” 

The amazed men stepped back, staring at her. 

“That he will never say,” said McLean at last, “and 


FRECKLES 


296 

you don’t understand, Angel. I don’t know how you came 
here. I wouldn’t have had you hear that for the world* 
but since you have, dear girl, you must be told that it isn’t 
your friendship or your kindness Freckles wants; it is 
your love.” 

The Angel looked straight into the great surgeon’s 
eyes with her clear, steady orbs of blue, and then intc 
McLean’s with unwavering frankness. 

“Well, I do love him,” she said simply. 

McLean’s arms dropped helplessly. 

“You don’t understand,” he reiterated patiently. “It 
isn’t the love of a friend, or a comrade, or a sister, that 
Freckles wants from you; it is the love of a sweetheart. 
And if to save the life he has offered for you, you an* 
thinking of being generous and impulsive enough to sacri- 
fice your future — in the absence of your father, it will be- 
come my plain duty, as the protector in whose hands he 
has placed you, to prevent such rashness. The very 
words you speak, and the manner in which you say them* 
prove that you are a mere child, and have not dreamed 
what love is.” 

Then the Angel grew splendid. A rosy flush swept the 
pallor of fear from her face. Her big eyes widened and 
dilated with intense lights. She seemed to leap to the 
height and the dignity of superb womanhood before their 
wondering gaze. 

“I never have had to dream of love,” she said proudly. 
“I never have known anything else, in all my life, but to 
love every one and to have every one love me. And there 
never has been any one so dear as Freckles. If ^ou will 


OFFERS HIS LIFE 


297 

remember, we have been through a good deal together. I 
do love Freckles, just as I say I do. I don’t know any- 
thing about the love of sweethearts, but I love him with 
all the love in my heart, and I think that will satisfy him.” 

“Surely it should!” muttered the man of knives and 
lancets. , 

McLean reached to take hold of the Angel, but she saw 
the movement and swiftly stepped back. 

“As for my father,” she continued, “he at once told me 
what he learned from you about Freckles. I’ve known all 
you know for several weeks. That knowledge didn’t 
change your love for him a particle. I think the Bird 
Woman loved him more. Why should you two have all 
the fine perceptions there are? Can’t I see how brave, 
trustworthy, and splendid he is ? Can’t I see how his soul 
vibrates with his music, his love of beautiful things and the 
pangs of loneliness and heart-hunger ? Must you two love 
him with all the love there is, and I give him none? My 
father is never unreasonable. Fie won’t expect me not to 
love Freckles, or not to tell him so, if the telling will save 
him.” 

She darted past McLean into Freckles’ room, closed the 
door, and turned the key. 


















/ 




l 









































* 


























CHAPTER XVIII 


Wherein Freckles Refuses Love Without Knowii 
edge of Honourable Birth, and the Angel 
Goes in Quest of It 



CHAPTER XVIII 


Wherein Freckles Refuses Love Without Knowl* 
edge of Honourable Birth, and the Angel 
Goes in Quest of It 

F RECKLES lay on a flat pillow, his body immovable 
in a plaster cast, his maimed arm, as always, 
hidden. His greedy gaze fastened at once on the 
Angel’s face. She crossed to him with light step and bent 
over him with infinite tenderness. Her heart ached at the 
change in his appearance. He seemed so weak, heart- 
hungry, so utterly hopeless, so alone. She could see that 
the night had been one long terror. 

For the first time she tried putting herself in Freckles* 
place. What would it mean to have no parents, no home, 
no name? No name! That was the worst of all. That 
was to be lost — indeed — utterly and hopelessly lost. The 
Angel lifted her hands to her dazed head and reeled, as she 
tried to face that proposition. She dropped on her knees 
beside the bed, slipped her arm under the pillow, and lean- 
ing over Freckles, set her lips on his forehead. He smiled 
faintly, but his wistful face appeared worse for it. It hurt 
the angel to the heart. 

“Dear Freckles,” she said, “there is a story in your eye? 
this morning, tell me?” 

Fwkles drew a long, wavering breath. 


FRECKLES 


302 

“ Angel, ” he begged, “ be generous ! Be thinking of me a 
little. I’m so homesick and worn out, dear Angel, be 
giving me back me promise. Let me go ? ” 

“Why Freckles !” faltered the Angel. “You don’t 
know what you are asking. ‘Let you go!’ I cannot! I 
love you better than any one, Freckles. I think you are 
the very finest person I ever knew. I have our lives all 
planned. I want you to be educated and learn all there is 
to know about singing, just as soon as you are well enough. 
By the time you have completed your education I will have 
finished college, and then I want,” she choked a second, 
“I want you to be my real knight, Freckles, and come to 
me and tell me that you — like me — a little. I have been 
counting on you for my sweetheart from the very first, 
Freckles. I can’t give you up, unless you don’t like me. 
But you do like me — just a little — don’t you, Freckles?” 

Freckles lay whiter than the coverlet, his staring eyes 
on the ceiling and his breath wheezing between dry lips. 
The Angel awaited his answer a second, and when none 
came, she dropped her crimsoning face beside him on the 
pillow and whispered in his ear: 

“Freckles, I — I’m trying to make love to you. Oh, 
can’t you help me only a little bit? It’s awful hard all 
alone! I don’t know how, when I really mean it, but 
Freckles, I love you. I must have you, and now I guess — 
I guess maybe I’d better kiss you next.” 

She lifted her shamed face and bravely laid her feverish, 
quivering lips on his. Her breath, like clover-bloom, was 
in his nostrils, and her hair touched his face. Then she 
looked into his eyes with reproach. 


REFUSES LOVE 


3 

“Freckles,” she panted, “ Freckles! I didn’t think u 
was in you to be mean ! ” 

i ‘Mean, Angel! Mean to you?” gasped Freckles. 

“Yes,” said the Angel. “Downright mean. When 
I kiss you, if you had any mercy at ail you’d kiss back* 
just a little bit.” 

Freckles’ sinewy fist knotted into the coverlet. His 
chin pointed ceilingward while his head rocked on the 
pillow. 

“Oh, Jesus!” burst from him in agony. “You ain’t the 
only one that was crucified ! ” 

The Angel caught Freckles’ hand and carried it to her 
breast. 

“Freckles!” she wailed in terror, “Freckles! It is a 
mistake? Is it that you don’t want me?” 

Freckles’ head rolled on in wordless suffering. 

“Wait a bit, Angel?” he panted at last. “Be giving 
me a little time!” 

The Angel arose with controlled features. She bathed 
his face, straightened his hair, and held water to his lips. 
It seemed a long time before he reached toward her. In- 
stantly she knelt again, carried his hand to her breast, and 
leaned her cheek upon it. 

“Tell me, Freckles,” she whispered softly. 

“If I can,” said Freckles, in agony. “It’s just this. 
Angels are from above. Outcasts are from below. You’ve 
a sound body and you’re beautifulest of all. You have 
everything that loving, careful raising and money can give 
you. I have so much less than nothing that I don’t sup* 
pose I had any right to be bom. It’s a sure thing— 


FRECKLES 


304 

nobody wanted me afterward, so of course, they didn’t 
before. Some of them should have been telling you 
long ago.” 

“If that’s all you have to say. Freckles, I’ve known that 
quite a while,” said the Angel stoutly. “Mr. McLean told 
my father, and he told me. That only makes me love you 
more, to pay for all you’ve missed.” 

“Then I’m wondering at you,” said Freckles, in a voice 
of awe. “Can’t you see that if you were willing and your 
father would come and offer you to me, I couldn’t be 
touching the soles of your feet, in love — me, whose people 
brawled over me, cut off me hand, and throwed me away 
to freeze and to die! Me, who has no name just as much 
because I’ve no right to any, as because I don’t know it. 
When I was little, I planned to find me father and mother 
when I grew up. Now I know me mother deserted me, 
and me father was maybe a thief and surely a liar. The 
pity for me suffering and the watching over me have gone 
to your head, dear Angel, and it’s me must be thinking for 
you. If you could be forgetting me lost hand, where I was ! 
raised, and that I had no name to give you, and if yuu 
would be taking me as I am, some day people such as mine 
must be, might come upon you. I used to pray ivery 
night and morning and many times the day to see me 
mother. Now I only pray to die quickly and never risk 
the sight of her. ’Taint no ways possible, Angel! It’s a 
wildness of your dear head. Oh, do for mercy sake, kiss 
me once more and be letting me go!” 

“Not for a minute!” cried the Angel. “Not for a min- 
ute, if those are all the reasons you have. It’s you who are 


REFUSES LOVE 


30S 

wild in your head, but I can understand just how it 
happened. Being shut in that Home most of your life, and 
seeing children every day whose parents did neglect and 
desert them, makes you sure yours did the same; and yet 
there are so many other things that could have happened 
so much more easily than that. There are thousands o{ 
young couples who come to this country and start a family 
with none of their relatives here. Chicago is a big, wicked 
city, and grown people could disappear in many ways, and 
who would there ever be to find to whom their little 
children belonged? The minute my father told me how 
you felt, I began to study this thing over, and I’ve made 
up my mind you are dead wrong. I meant to ask my 
father or the Bird Woman to talk to you before you went 
away to school, but as matters are right now I guess I’ll 
just do it myself. It’s all so plain to me. Oh, if I could 
only make you see!” 

She buried her face in the pillow and presently lifted it* 
transfigured. 

“Now I have it!” she cried. “Oh, dear heart! I can 
make it so plain ! F reckles, can you imagine you see the old 
Limberlost trail? Well when we followed it, you know 
there were places where ugly, prickly thistles overgrew the 
path, and you went ahead with your club and bent them 
back to keep them from stinging through my clothing. 
Other places there were big shining pools where lovely, 
snow-white lilies grew, and you waded in and gathered 
them for me. Oh dear heart, don’t you see? It’s this! 
Everywhere the wind carried that thistledown, other 
thistles sprang up and grew prickles; and wherever those 


FRECKLES 


306 

lily-seeds sank to the mire, the pure white of other lilies 
bloomed. But, Freckles, there was never a place anywhere 
in the Limberlost, or in the whole world, where the thistle- 
down floated and sprang up and blossomed into white 
lilies! Thistles grow from thistles, and lilies from other 
lilies. Dear Freckles, think hard! You must see it! You 
are a lily, straight through. You never, never could have 
drifted from the thistle-patch. 

“Where did you find the courage to go into the Limber- 
lost and face its terrors? You inherited it from the blood 
of a brave father, dear heart. Where did you get the pluck 
to hold for over a year a job that few men would have taken 
at all? You got it from a plucky mother, you bravest of 
boys. You attacked single-handed a man almost twice 
your size, and fought as a demon, merely at the suggestion 
that you be deceptive and dishonest. Could your mother 
or your father have been untruthful? Here you are, so 
hungry and starved that you are dying for love. Where 
did you get all that capacity for loving? You didn’t in- 
herit it from hardened, heartless people, who would dis- 
figure you and purposely leave you to die, that’s one sure 
thing. You once told me of saving your big bullfrog from 
a rattlesnake. You knew you risked a horrible death 
when you did it. Yet you will spend miserable years tor- 
turing yourself with the idea that your own mother might 
have cut off that hand. Shame on you, Freckles! Your 
another would have done this ” 

The Angel deliberately turned back the cover, slipped 
(ftp the sleeve, and laid her lips on the scars. 

“Freckles! Wake up!” she cried, almost shaking 


REFUSES LOVE 


307 

him. “Come to your senses! Pe a thinking, reasoning 
man! You have brooded too much, and been all your 
life too much alone. It’s all as plain as plain can be to 
me. You must see it! Like breeds like in this world! 
You must be some sort of a reproduction of your parents* 
and I am not afraid to vouch for them, not for a minute* 

“And then, too, if more proof is needed, here it is: Mr. 
McLean says that you never once have failed in tact and 
courtesy. He says that you are the most perfect gentle- 
man he ever knew, and he has travelled the world over* 
How does it happen, Freckles? No one at that Home 
taught you. Hundreds of men couldn’t be taught, even 
in a school of etiquette; so it must be instinctive with 
you. If it is, why, that means that it is bom in you, and 
a direct inheritance from a race of men that have been 
gentlemen for ages, and couldn’t be anything else. 

“Then there’s your singing. I don’t believe there ever 
was a mortal with a sweeter voice than yours, and while 
that doesn’t prove anything, there is a point that does. 
The little training you had from that choir-master won y t 
account for the wonderful accent and ease with which you 
sing. Somewhere in your close blood is a marvellously 
trained vocalist; we every one of us believe that, Freckles. 

“Why does my father refer to you constantly as being 
of fine perceptions and honour? Because you are, Frec- 
kles. Why does the Bird Woman leave her precious work 
and come here to help look after you? I never heard of 
her losing any time over any one else. It’s because she 
loves you. And why does Mr. McLean turn all of his 
valuable business over to hired men and watch you person- 


FRECKLES 


308 

ally? And why is he hunting excuses every day to spend j 
money on you? My father says McLean is full Scotch- 
close with a dollar. He is a hardheaded business man, j 
Freckles, and he is doing it because he finds you worthy 
of it. Worthy of all we all can do and more than we know 
how to do, dear heart! Freckles, are you listening to me? 
Oh ! won’t you see it ? Won’t you believe it ? ” 

“Oh, Angel!” chattered the bewildered Freckles, “are 
you truly maning it ? Could it be ? ” 

“Of course it could,” flashed the Angel, “because it 
just is!” 

“But you can’t prove it,” wailed Freckles. “It ain’t 
giving me a name, or me honour!” 

“Freckles,” said the Angel, sternly, “you are unreason- 
able! Why, I did prove every word I said! Everything ; 
proves it! You look here! If you knew for sure that I 
could give you a name and your honour, and prove tLr 
you that your mother did love you, why, then, would you 
just go to breathing like perpetual motion and hang on for * 
dear life and get well ? ” 

A bright light shone in Freckles’ eyes. 

“ If I knew that, Angel,” he said solemnly, “you couldn’t , 
be killing me if you felled the biggest tree in the Limber- 
lost smash on me!” 

“Then you go right to work,” said the Angel, “and 
before night I’ll prove one thing to you: I can show you 
easily enough how much your mother loved you. That 
will be the first step, and then the remainder will all come. . 
If my father and Mr. McLean are so anxious to spend some 
money, I’ll give them a chance I don’t see why we 


REFUSES LOVE 309 

haven’t comprehended how you felt and so have been at 
work weeks ago. We’ve been awfully selfish. We’ve all 
been so comfortable, we never stopped to think what 
other people were suffering before our eyes. None of us 
has understood. I’ll hire the finest detective in Chicago, 
) and we’ll go to work together. This is nothing compared 
i ;vith things people do find out. We’ll go at it, beak and 
claw, and we’ll show you a thing or two.” 

Freckles caught her sleeve. 

“Me mother, Angel 1 Me mother!” he marvelled 
hoarsely. “ Did you say you could be finding out to-day 
if me mother loved me? How? Oh, Angel! Nothing 
matters, if only me mother didnt do it!” 

“Then you rest easy,” said the Angel, with large con- 
fidence. “Your mother didn’t do it! Mothers of sons 
such as you don’t do things like that. I’ll go to work at 
once and prove it to you. The first thing to do is to go to 
that Home where you were and get the clothes you wore 
the night you were left there. I know that they are re- 
quired to save those things carefully. We can find out 
almost all there is to know about your mother from them. 
Did you ever see them ? ” 

“Yis,” he replied. 

“Freckles! were they white?” she cried. 

“Maybe they were once. They’re all yellow with 
laying, and brown with bloodstains now,” said Freckles, 
the old note of bitterness creeping in. “You can’t be 
telling anything at all by them, Angel!” 

“Well, but I just can!” said the Angel, positively. 
*' I can see from the quality what kind of goods your 


FRECKLES 


3io 

mother could afford to buy. I can see from the cut 
whether she had good taste. I can see from the care she 
took in making them how much she loved and wanted 
you,” 

“But how? Angel, tell me hew!” implored Freckles^ 
with trembling eagerness. 

“Why, easily enough,” said the Angel. “I thought 
you’d understand. People that can afford anything at 
all, always buy white for little new babies — linen and lace, 
and the very finest things to be had. There’s a young 
woman living near us who cut up her wedding-clothes 
to have fine things for her baby. Mothers who love and 
want their babies don’t buy little rough, ready-made 
things, and they don’t run up what they make on an old 
sewing-machine. They make fine seams, and tucks, and 
put on lace and trimming by hand. They sit and stitch, 
and stitch — little, even stitches, every one just as carefuL 
Their eyes shine and their faces glow. When they have 
to quit to do something else, they look sorry, and fold up 
their work so particularly. There isn’t much worth know- 
ing about your mother that those little clothes won’t tell. 
I can see her putting the little stitches into them and 
smiling with shining eyes over your coming. Freckles, 
I’ll wager you a dollar those little clothes of yours are just 
aliv6 with the dearest, tiny hand-made stitches.” 

A new light dawned in Freckles’ eyes. A tinge of warm 
colour swept into his face. Renewed strength was notice- 
able in his grip of her hands. 

“Oh Angel! Will you go now? Will you be hurry* 
mg?” he cried. 


REFUSES LOVE 


3ii 

“Right away,” said the Angel. “I won’t stop for a 
thing, and I’ll hurry with all my might.” 

She smoothed his pillow, straightened the cover, gave 
him one steady look in the eyes, and went quietly from the 
room. 

Outside the door, McLean and the surgeon anxiously 
awaited her. McLean caught her shoulders. 

“Angel, what have you done?” he demanded. 

The Angel smiled defiance into his eyes. 

“‘What have I done?’” she repea tedo “I’ve tried to 
save Freckles.” 

“What will your father say?” groaned McLean. 

“It strikes me,” said the Angel, “that what Freckles 
said would be to the point.” 

“Freckles!” exclaimed McLean. “What could he 
say?” 

“He seemed to be able to say several things,” answered 
the Angel sweetly. “I fancy the one that concerns you 
most at present was, that if my father should offer me to 
him he would not have me.” 

“And no one knows why better than I do,” cried 
McLean. “Every day he must astonish me with some 
new fineness.” 

He turned to the surgeon. “Save him!” he com- 
manded. “Save him!” he implored. “He is too fine to 
be sacrificed.” 

“His salvation lies here,” said the surgeon, stroking the 
Angel’s sunshiny hair, “and I can read in the face of her 
that she knows how she is going to work it out. Don’t 
trouble for the boy. She will save him!” 


3 I2 FRECKLES 

The Angel laughingly sped down the hall, and into ths 
street, just as she was. 

“I have come;” she said to the matron of the Home, “to 
ask if you will allow me to examine, or, better yet, to take 
with me, the little clothes that a boy you called Freckles* 
discharged last fall, wore the night he was left here.” 

The woman looked at her in greater astonishment than 
the occasion demanded. 

“Well, Fd be glad to let you see them,” she said at last, 
“but the fact is we haven’t them. I do hope we haven’t 
made some mistake. I was thoroughly convinced, and 
so was the superintendent. We let his people take those 
things away yesterday. Who are you, and what do you 
Want with them?” 

The Angel stood dazed and speechless, staring at the i. 
matron. 

“There couldn’t have been a mistake,” continued the 
matron, seeing the Angel’s distress. “Freckles was here 
when I took charge, ten years ago. These people had it 
all proved that he belonged to them. They had him 
traced to where he ran away in Illinois last Call, and there 
they completely lost track of him. I’m sorry you seem 
so disappointed, but it is all right. The man is his uncle, 
and as like the boy as he possibly could be. He is almost 
killed to go back without him. If you know where F reckles 
is, they’d give big money to find out.” 

The Angel laid a hand along each cheek to steady her 
chattering teeth. 

“Who are they?” she stammered. “Where are they 
going? 


REFUSES LOVE 


313 

“They are Irish folks, Miss,” said the matron. “They 
have been in Chicago and over the country for the past 
three months, hunting him everywhere. * They have given 
up, and are starting home to-dav. They ” 

“ Did they leave an address ? Where could I find them ?” 
interrupted the Angel. 

“They left a card, and I notice the morning paper has 
the man’s picture and is full of them. They’ve advertised 
a great deal in the city papers. It’s a wonder you haven’t 
seen something.” 

“Trains don’t run right. We never get Chicago papers,” 
said the Angel. “ Please give me that card quickly. They 
may escape me. I simply must catch them!” 

The matron hurried to the secretary and came back with 
a card. 

“Their addresses are there,” she said. “Both in 
Chicago and at their home. They made them full and 
plain, and I was to cable at once if I got the least clue of 
him at any time. If they’ve left the city, you can stop 
them in New York. You’re sure to catch them before 
they sail — if you hurry.” 

The matron caught up a paper and thrust it into the 
Angel’s hand as she ran to the street. 

The Angel glanced at the card. The Chicago address 
was Suite Eleven, Auditorium. She laid her hand on her 
driver’s sleeve and looked into his eyes. 

“There is a fast-driving limit?” she asked. 

“Yes, Miss.” 

“Will you crowd it all you can without danger of arrest? 
I will pay well. I must catch some people!” 


FRECKLES 


3H 

Then she smiled at him. The hospital, an Orphans* 
Home, and the Auditorium seemed a queer combination 
to that driver, but the Angel was always and everywhere 
the Angel, and her methods were strictly her own. 

“I will take you there as quickly as any man could with 
a team,” he said promptly. 

The Angel clung to the card and paper, and as best she 
could in the lurching, swaying cab, read the addresses over. 

“O’More, Suite Eleven, Auditorium.” 

O’More, she repeated. “ Seems to fit Freckles to a 
dot. Wonder if that could be his name? ‘Suite Eleven’ 
means that you are pretty well fixed. Suites in the Audi- 
torium come high.” 

Then she turned the card and read on its reverse, Lord 
Maxwell O’More, M. P.> Killvany Place, County Clare, 
Ireland. 

The Angel sat on the edge of the seat, bracing her feet 
against the one opposite, as the cab pitched and swung 
around comers and past vehicles. She mechanically fin- 
gered the pasteboard and stared straight ahead. Then 
she drew a deep breath and read the card again. 

“A Lord-man!” she groaned despairingly. “A Lord- 
man! Bet my hoe-cake’s scorched! Here I’ve gone and 
pledged my word to Freckles I’d find him some decent 
relatives, that he could be proud of, and now there isn’t a 
chance out of a dozen that he’ll have to be ashamed of 
them after all. It’s too mean!” 

The tears of vexation rolled down the tired, nerve- 
racked Angel’s cheeks. 

“This isn’t going to do,” she said, resolutely wiping her 


REFUSES LOVE 


3iJ 

eyes with the palm of her hand and gulping down the 
nervous spasm in her throat. “I must read this paper be*' 
fore I meet Lord O’More.” 

She blinked back the tears and spreading the paper on 
her knee, read: “After three months’ fruitless search, Lord 
O’More gives up the quest of his lost nephew, and leaves 
Chicago to-day for his home in Ireland.” 

She read on, and realized every word. The likeness 
settled any doubt. It was Freckles over again, only older 
and well dressed. 

“Well, I must catch you if I can,” muttered the Angel. 
“ But when I do, if you are a gentleman in name only, you 
shan’t have Freckles; that’s flat. You’re not his father 
and he is twenty. Anyway, if the law will give him to you 
for one year, you can’t spoil him, because nobody could, 
*nd,” she added, brightening, “he’ll probably do you a lot 
of good. Freckles and I both must study years yet, and 
you should be something that will save him. I guess it 
will come out all right. At least, I don’t believe you can 
take him away if I say no.” 

“Thank you; and wait, no matter Kow long,” she said to 
her driver. 

Catching up the paper, she hurried to the desk and laid 
down Lord O’More’s card. 

“ Has my uncle started yet?” she asked, sweetly. 

The surprised clerk stepped back on a bell-boy, and 
covertly kicked him for being in the way. 

“His Lordship is in his room,” he said, with a low bow. 

“All right,” said the Angel, picking up the card. “I 
thought he might have started. I’ll see him.” 


FRECKLES 


5i6 

The clerk shoved the bell-boy toward the Angel. 

“Show her Ladyship to the elevator and Lord O’More’s 
suite,” he said, bowing double. 

“Aw, thanks,” said the Angel, with a slight nod, as she 
turned away. 

“Em not sure,” she muttered to herself as the elevator 
sped upward, “whether it’s the Irish or the English who 
say: ‘Aw, thanks/ but it’s probable he isn’t either; and 
anyway, I just had to do something to counteract that 
‘All right.’ Flow stupid of me!” 

At the bell-boy’s tap, the door swung open and the 
liveried servant thrust a card-tray before the Angel. The 
opening of the door created a current that swayed a cur- 
tain aside, and in an adjoining room, lounging in a big 
chair, with a paper in his hand, sat a man who was, beyond 
question, of Freckles’ blood and race. 

With perfect control the Angel dropped Lord O’More’s 
card in the tray, stepped past his servant, and stood before 
his lordship. 

“Good morning,” she said with tense politeness. 

Lord O’More said nothing. He carelessly glanced her 
over with amused curiosity, until her colour began to 
deepen and her blood to run hotly. 

“Well, my dear,” he said at last, “how can I serve you?” 

Instantly the Angel became indignant. She had been 
so shielded in the midst of almost entire freedom, owing 
to the circumstances of her life, that the words and the look 
appealed to her as almost insulting. She lifted her head 
with a proud gesture. 

“I am not your ‘dear,’” she said, with slow distinctness. 


REFUSES LOVE 


3i7 

sc There isn’t a thing in the world you can do for me. I 
came here to see if I could do something — a very great 
something — for you; but if I don’t like you, I won’t do it!” 

Then Lord O’More did stare. Suddenly he broke into 
a ringing laugh. Without a change of attitude or ex- 
pression, the Angel stood looking steadily at him. 

There was a silken rustle, then a beautiful woman with 
cheeks of satiny pink, dark hair, and eyes of pure Irish 
blue, moved to Lord O’More’s side, and catching his arm^ 
shook him impatiently 

“Terence! Have you lost your senses?” she cried,, 
“ Didn’t you understand what the child said ? Look at her 
face! See what she has!” 

Lord O’More opened his eyes widely and sat up. He 
did look at the Angel’s face intently, and suddenly found 
it so good that it was difficult to follow the next injunction 
He arose instantly. 

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “The fact is, I am leav- 
ing Chicago sorely disappointed. It makes me bitter and 
reckless. I thought you one more of those queer, useless 
people who have thrust themselves on me constantly, and 
I was careless. Forgive me, and tell me why you came.” 

“I will if I like you,” said the Angel stoutly, “and if I 
don’t, I won’t!” 

“But I began all wrong, and now I don’t know how to 
make you like me,” said his lordship, with sincere peni- 
tence in his tone. 

The Angel found herself yielding to his voice. He spoke 
in a soft, mellow, smoothly flowing Irish tone, and al- 
though his speech was perfectly correct, it was so rounded^ 


FRECKLES 


318 

and accented, and the sentences so turned, that it was 
Freckles over again. Still, it was a matter of the very 
greatest importance, and she must be sure; so she looked 
into the beautiful woman’s face. 

“Are you his wife?” she asked. 

“ Yes,” said the woman; “I am his wife.” 

“Well,” said the Angel judicially, “the Bird Woman 
says no one in the whole world knows all a man’s bignesses 
and all his littlenesses as his wife does. What you think of 
him should do for me. Do you like him ? ” 

The question was so earnestly asked that it met with 
equal earnestness. The dark head moved caressingly 
against Lord O’More’s sleeve. 

“Better than any one in the whole world,” said Lady 
O’More promptly. 

The Angel mused a second, and then her legal tinge came 
to the fore again. 

“Yes, but have you any one you could like better, if he 
Wasn’t all right?” she persisted. 

“I have three of his sons, two little daughters, a father, 
mother, and several brothers and sisters,” came the quick 
reply. 

“Andyoulikehimbest? ’’persisted the Angel, with finality. 

“I love him so much that I would give up every one of 
them with dry eyes if by so doing I could save him,” cried 
Lord O’More’s wife. 

“Oh!” cried the Angel. “Oh, my!” 

She lifted her clear eyes to Lord O’More’s and shook her 
head. 

“ She never, never could do that ! ” she said. “ But it’s a 



He arose instantly. “ I beg your pardon/’ he said. 




Rufuses love 


319 

ftaig! ty big thing to your credit that she thinks she could. 
I guess Ell tell you why I came.” 

She laid down the paper, and touched the portrait. 

“When you were only a boy, did people call you 
Freckles?” she asked. 

“Dozens of good fellows all over Ireland and the Conti' 
nent are doing it to-day,” answered Lord O’More. 

The Angel’s face wore her most beautiful smile. 

“I was sure of it,” she said, winningly. “That’s what 
we call him, and he is so like you, I doubt if any one of 
those three boys of yours are more so. But it’s been 
twenty years. Seems to me you’ve been a long time com- 
ing!” 

Lord O’More caught the Angel’s wrists and his wife 
slipped her arms around her. 

“Steady, my girl!” said the man’s voice hoarsely. 
“ Don’t make me think you’ve brought word of the boy 
at this lest hour, unless you know surely.” 

“It’s all right,” said the Angel. “We have him, and 
there’s no chance of a mistake. If I hadn’t gone to that 
Home for his little clothes, and heard of you and been 
hunting you, and had met you on the street, or anywhere, 
I would have stopped you and asked you who you were, 
just because you are so like him. It’s all right. I can 
tell you where Freckles is; but whether you deserve to 
know — that’s another matter!” 

Lord O’More did not hear her. He dropped in his 
chair, and covering his face, burst into those terrible sobs 
that shake and rend a strong man. Lady O’More hov~ 
ered over him, weeping. 


FRECKLES 


320 

“Umph! Looks pretty fair for Freckles,” muttered the 
Angel. “Lots of things can be explained; now perhaps 
they can explain this.” 

They did explain so satisfactorily that in a few minutes 
the Angel was on her feet, hurrying Lord and Lady 0*More 
to reach the hospital. “You said Freckles’ old nurse 
knew his mother’s picture instantly,” said the Angel. “I 
want that picture and the bundle of little clothes.” 

Lady O’More gave them into her hands. 

The likeness was a large miniature, painted on ivory, 
with a frame of beaten gold. Surrounded by masses of 
dark hair was a delicately cut face. In the upper part of 
it there was no trace of Freckles, but the lips curving in a 
smile were his very own. The Angel gazed at it steadily. 
Then with a quivering breath she laid the portrait aside 
and reached both hands to Lord O’More. 

“That will save Freckles’ life and insure his happiness,” 
she said, positively. “Thank you, oh thank you for 
coming!” 

She opened the bundle of yellow and brown linen and 
gave only a glance at the texture and work. Then she 
gathered the little clothes and the picture to her heart and 
led the way to the cab. 

Ushering Lord and Lady O’More into the reception- 
room, she said to McLean, “Please go call up my father 
and ask him to come on the first train.” 

She closed the door after him. 

“These are Freckles’ people,” she said to the Bird 
Woman. “You can find out about each other; I’m going 
to him.” 


CHAPTER XIX 

Wherein Freckles Finds His Birthright and thb 
Angel Loses Her Heart 



CHAPTER XIX 


Wherein Freckles Finds His Birthright and the 
Angel Loses Her Heart 

T HE nurse left the room quietly, as the Angel en- 
tered, carrying the bundle and picture. When 
they were alone, she turned to Freckles and saw 
that the crisis was indeed at hand. 

That she had good word to give him was his salvation, 
for despite the heavy plaster jacket that held his body 
immovable, his head was lifted from the pillow. Both 
arms reached for her. His lips and cheeks flamed, while 
his eyes flashed with excitement. 

“Angel, ” he panted. “Oh Angel! Did you find them? 
Are they white ? Are the little stitches there ? Oh Angel ! 
did me mother love me ?” 

The words seemed to leap from his burning lips. The 
Angel dropped the bundle on the bed and laid the picture 
face down across his knees. She gently pushed his head 
to the pillow and caught his arms in a firm grasp. 

“Yes, dear heart,” she said with fullest assurance. 
“No little clothes were ever whiter. I never in all my 
life saw such dainty, fine, little stitches; and as for loving 
you, no boy’s mother ever loved him more!” 

A nervous trembling seized Freckles. 

“Sure ? Are you sure ? ” he urged, with clicking teeth. 


323 


324 


FRECKLES 


“I know,” said the Angel firmly. “And Freckles, 
while you rest and be glad, I want to tell you a story. 
When you feel stronger we will look at the clothes together. 
They are here. They are all right. But while I was at the 
Home getting them, I heard of some people that were 
hunting a lost boy. I went to see them, and what they 
told me was all so exactly like what might have happened 
to you that I must tell you. Then you’ll understand that 
things could be very different from what you always have 
tortured yourself with thinking. Are you strong enough 
to listen? May I tell you?” 

“Maybe ’twasn’t me mother! Maybe some one else 
made those little stitches ! ” 

“Now, goosie, don’t you begin that,” said the Angel, 
“because I know that it was!” 

“Know!” cried Freckles, his head springing from the 
pillow. “Know! How can you know?” 

The Angel gently soothed him back. 

“Why, because nobody else would ever sit and do it 
the way it is done. That’s how I know,” she said em- 
phatically. “Now you listen while I tell you about this 
lost boy and his people, who have hunted for months and 
can’t find him.” 

Freckles lay quietly under her touch, but he did not 
hear a word that she was saying until his roving eyes rested 
on her face; he immediately noticed a remarkable thing. 
For the first time she was talking to him and avoiding his 
eyes. That was not like the Angel at all. It was the 
delight of hearing her speak that she looked one squarely 
in the face and with perfect frankness. There were no 


FINDS HIS BIRTHRIGHT 


3*5 

side glances and down-drooping eyes when the Angel 
talked; she was business straight through. Instantly 
Freckles’ wandering thoughts fastened on her words. 

“ — and he was a sour, grumpy, old man,” she was say- 
ing. “He always had been spoiled, because he was an 
only son, so he had a title, and a big estate. He would 
have just his way, no matter about his sweet little wife, 
or his boys, or any one. So when his elder son fell in 
love with a beautiful girl having a title, the very girl of 
all the world his father wanted him to, and added a big 
adjoining estate to his, why, that pleased him mightily. 

“Then he went and ordered his younger son to marry 
a poky kind of a girl, that no one liked, to add another big 
estate on the other side, and that was different. That 
was all the world different, because the elder son had been 
in love all his life with the girl he married, and, oh, Frec- 
kles, it’s no wonder, for I saw her! She’s a beauty and 
she has the sweetest way. 

“But that poor younger son, he had been in love with 
the village vicar’s daughter all his life. That’s no wonder 
either, for she was more beautiful yet. She could sing 
as the angels, but she hadn’t a cent. She loved him to 
death, too, if he was bony and freckled and red-haired — I 
don’t mean that! They didn’t say what colour his hair 
was, but his father’s must have been the reddest ever, 
for when he found out about them, and it wasn’t anything 
so terrible, he just caved! 

“The old man went to see the girl — the pretty one with 
no money, of course — and he hurt her feelings until she 
ran away. She went to London and began studying 


FRECKLES 


326 

music. Soon she grew to be a fine singer, so she joined a 
company and came to this country. 

“ When the younger son found that she had left London, 
he followed her. When she got here all alone, and afraid, 
and saw him coming to her, why, she was so glad she up 
and married him, just like anybody else would have done. 
He didn’t want her to travel with the troupe, so when 
they reached Chicago they thought that would be a good 
place, and they stopped, while he hunted work. It was 
slow business, because he never had been taught to do a 
useful thing, and he didn’t even know how to hunt work, 
least of all to do it when he found it; so pretty soon things 
were going wrong. But if he couldn’t find work, she could 
always sing, so she sang at night, and made little things in 
the daytime. He didn’t like her to sing in public, and he 
wouldn’t allow her when he could help himself; but winter 
came, it was very cold, and fire was expensive. Rents 
went up, and they had to move farther out to cheaper and 
cheaper places; and you were coming — I mean, the boy 
that is lost was coming — and they were almost distracted. 
Then the man wrote and told his father all about it; and 
his father sent the letter back unopened with a line telling 
him never to write again. When the baby came, there 
was very little left to pawn for food and a doctor, and 
nothing at all for a nurse; so an old neighbour woman went 
in and took care of the young mother and the little baby, 
because she was so sorry for them. By that time they 
were away in the suburbs on the top floor of a little wooden 
house, among a lot of big factories, and it kept growing 
colder, with less to eat. Then the man grew desperate, 


FINDS HIS BIRTHRIGHT 


3 X 7 

and he went just to find something to eat and the woman 
was desperate, too. She got up, left the old woman to 
take care of her baby, and went into the city to sing for 
some money. The woman became so cold she put the 
baby in bed and went home. Then a boiler blew up in a 
big factory beside the little house and set it on fire. A 
piece of iron was pitched across and broke through the 
roof. It came down smash, and cut just one little hand 
oft the poor baby. It screamed and screamed; and the 
fire kept coming closer and closer. 

“The old woman ran out with the other people and saw 
what had happened. She knew there wasn’t going to be 
time to wait for firemen or anything, so she ran into the 
building. She could hear the baby screaming, and she 
couldn’t stand that; so she worked her way to it. There it 
was, all hurt and bleeding.' Then she was almost scared 
to death over thinking what its mother would do to her for 
going away and leaving it, so she ran to a Home for little 
friendless babies, that was close, and banged on the door. 
Then she hid across the street until the baby was taken in, 
and then she ran back to see if her own house was burning. 
The big factory and the little house and a lot of others were 
all gone. The people there told her that the beautiful 
lady came back and ran into the house to find her 
baby. She had just gone in when her husband came, 
and he went in after her, and the house fell over both of 
them.” 

Freckles lay rigidly, with his eyes on the Angel’s face, 
while she talked rapidly to the ceiling. 

“Then the old woman was sick about that poor little 


FRECKLES 


328 

baby. She was afraid to tell them at the Home, because 
she knew she never should have left it, but she wrote a 
letter and sent it to where the beautiful woman, when she 
was ill, had said her husband’s people lived. She told all 
about the little baby that she could remember: when it 
was born, how it was named for the man’s elder brother* 
that its hand had been cut off in the fire, and where she 
had put it to be doctored and taken care of. She told 
them that its mother and father were both burned, and she 
begged and implored them to come after it. 

“You’d think that would have melted a heart of ice, but 
that old man hadn’t any heart to melt, for he got that letter 
and read it. He hid it away among his papers and never 
told a soul. A few months ago he died. When his elder 
son went to settle his business, he found the letter almost 
the first thing. He dropped everything, and came, with 
his wife, to hunt that baby, because he always had loved 
his brother dearly, and wanted him back. He had hunted 
for him all he dared all these years, but when he got here 
you were gone — I mean the baby was gone, and I had to 
tell you, Freckles, for you see, it might have happened to 
you like that just as easy as to that other lost boy.” 

Freckles reached up and turned the Angel’s face until he 
compelled her eyes to meet his. 

“Angel,” he asked quietly, “why don’t you look at me 
when you are telling about that lost boy?” 

“I — I didn’t know I wasn’t,” faltered the Angel. 

“It seems to me,” said Freckles, his breath beginning ta 
come in sharp wheezes, “that you got us rather mixed, and 
it ain’t like you to be mixing things till one can’t be know- 


FINDS HIS BIRTHRIGHT 


3 2 9 

ing. If they were telling you so much, did they say which 
hand was for being off that lost boy?” 

The Angela eyes escaped again. 

‘‘It — it was the same as yours,” she ventured, barely 
breathing in her fear. 

Still Freckles lay rigid and whiter than the coverlet. 

“Would that boy be as old as me?” he asked. 

“Yes,” said the Angel faintly. 

“Angel,” said Freckles at last, catching her wrist, “are 
you trying to tell me that there is somebody hunting a boy 
that you’re thinking might be me? Are you belavin’ 
you’ve found me relations?” 

Then the Angel’s eyes came home. The time had come. 
She pinioned Freckles’ arms to his sides and bent above 
him. 

“ How strong are you, dear heart ? ” she breathed. “ How 
brave are you? Can you bear it? Dare I tell you that?” 

“No!” gasped Freckles. “Not if you’re sure! I can’t 
bear it! I’ll die if you do!” 

The day had been one unremitting strain with the 
Angel. Nerve tension was drawn to the finest thread. 
It snapped suddenly. 

“Die!” she flamed. “Die, if I tell you that! You said 
this morning that you would die if you didn’t know your 
name, and if your people were honourable. Now I’ve gone 
and found you a name that stands for ages of honour, a 
mother who loved you enough to go into the fire and die 
for you, and the nicest kind of relatives, and you turn 
round and say you’ll die over that! You just try dying anil 
you’ll get a good slap l ” 


FRECKLES 


330 

The Angel stood glaring at him. One second Freckles 
lay paralyzed and dumb with astonishment. The next the 
Irish in his soul arose above everything. A laugh burst 
from him. The terrified Angel caught him in her arms 
and tried to stifle the sound. She implored and com- 
manded. When he was too worn to utter another sound, 
his eyes laughed silently. 

After a long time, when he was quiet and rested, the 
Angel commenced talking to him gently, and this time her 
big eyes, humid with tenderness and mellow with happi- 
ness, seemed as if they could not leave his face. 

“Dear Freckles,” she was saying, “across your knees 
there is the face of the mother who went into thefire for you, 
and I know the name — old and full of honour — to which 
you were bom. Dear heart, which will you have first ?” 

Freckles was very tired; the big drops of perspiration ran 
together on his temples; but the watching Angel caught 
'"he words his lips formed, “Me mother !” 

She lifted the lovely pictured face and set it in the nook of 
his arm. Freckles caught her hand and drew her beside 
him, and together they gazed at the picture while the tears 
slid over their cheeks. 

“Me mother! Oh, me mother! Can you ever be for- 
giving me? Oh, me beautiful little mother !” chanted 
Freckles over and over in exalted wonder, until he was so 
completely exhausted that his lips refused to form the 
question in his weary eyes. 

“Wait!” cried the Angel with inborn refinement, for she 
could no more answer that question than he could ask. 
“Wait, I will write it!” 


FINDS HIS BIRTHRIGHT 331 

She hurried to the table, caught up the nurse’s pencil 
and on the back of a prescription-tablet scrawled it: 
“ Terence Maxwell O’More, Dunderry House, County 
Clare, Ireland.” 

Before she had finished came Freckles’ voice: “Angel, 
are you hurrying?” 

“Yes,” said the Angel; “I am. But there is a good deal 
of it. I have to put in your house and country, so that 
you will feel located.” 

“Me house?” marvelled Freckles. 

“Of course,” said the Angel. “Your uncle says your 
grandmother left your father her dower house and estate, 
because she knew his father would cut him off*. You get 
that, and all your share of your grandfather’s property 
besides. It is all set off for you and waiting. Lord 
O’More told me so. I suspect you are richer than McLean, 
Freckles.” 

She closed his fingers over the slip and straightened his 
hair. 

“Now you are all right, dear Limberlost guard,” she 
said. “You go to sleep and don’t think of a thing but 
just pure joy, joy, joy! I’ll keep your people until you 
wake up. You are too tired to see any one else just 
now!” 

Freckles caught her skirt as she turned from him. 

“I’ll go to sleep in five minutes,” he said, “if you will be 
doing just one thing more for me. Send for your father! 
Oh, Angel, send for him quick! How will I ever be wait- 
ing until he comes?” 

One instant the Angel stood looking at him. The next 


332 


FRECKLES 


a crimson wave darkly stained her lovely face. Her chin 
began a spasmodic quivering and the tears sprang into her 
eves. Her hands caught at her chest as if she were stilling. 
Freckles’ grasp on her tightened until he drew her beside 
him. He slipped his arm around her and drew her face to 
his pillow. 

“ Don’t, Angel; for the love of mercy don’t be doing 
that,” he implored. “I can’t be bearing it. Tell me. 
You must tell me.” 

The Angel shook her head. 

“That ain’t fair, Angel,” said Freckles. “You made 
me tell you when it was like tearing the heart raw from me 
breast. And you was for making everything heaven — just 
heaven and nothing else for me. If I’m so much more now 
than I was an hour ago, maybe I can be thinking of some 
way to fix things. You will be telling me?” he coaxed, 
moving his cheek against her hair. 

The Angel’s head moved in negation. Freckles did a 
moment of intent thinking. 

“Maybe I can be guessing,” he whispered. “Will you 
be giving me three chances ? ” 

There was the faintest possible assent. 

“You didn’t want me to be knowing me name,” guessed 
Freckles. 

The Angel’s head sprang from the pillow and her tear- 
stained face flamed with outraged indignation. 

“Why, I did too!” she cried angrily. 

“One gone,” said Freckles calmly. “You didn’t want 
me to have relatives, a home, and money.” 

“ I did ! ” exclaimed the Angel. “ Didn’t I go myself, all 


FINDS HIS BIRTHRIGHT 333 

alone, into the city, and find them when I was afraid as 
death? I did too!” 

“Two gone,” said Freckles. “You didn’t want the 
beautifulest girl in the world to be telling me ” 

Down went the Angel’s face and a heavy sob shook her. 
Freckles’ clasp tightened around her shoulders, while his 
face, in its conflicting emotions, was a study. He was so 
stunned and bewildered by the miracle that had been per- 
formed in bringing to light his name and relatives that he 
had no strength left for elaborate mental processes. De- 
spite all it meant to him to know his name at last, and that 
he was of honourable birth — knowledge without which 
life was an eternal disgrace and burden — the one thing that 
was hammering in Freckles’ heart and beating in his brain, 
past any attempted expression, was the fact that, while 
nameless and possibly born in shame, the Angel had told 
him that she loved him. He could find no word with 
which to begin to voice the rapture of his heart over that. 
But if she regretted it — if it had been a thing done out of 
her pity for his condition, or her feeling of responsibility, 
if it killed him after all, there was only one thing left to do. 
Not for McLean, not for the Bird Woman, not for the 
Duncans would Freckles have done it — but for the Angel 
— if rt would make her happy — he would do anything. 

“Angel,” whispered Freckles, with his lips against her 
hair, “you haven’t learned your history-book very well, or 
else you’ve forgotten.” 

“Forgotten what?” sobbed the Angel. 

“Forgotten about the real knight, Ladybird,” breathed 
freckles. “Don’t you know that, if anything happened 


FRECKLES 


334 

that made his lady sorry, a real knight just simply couldn't 
be remembering it? Angel, darling little Swamp Angel, 
you be listening to me. There was one night on the trail, 
one solemn, grand, white night, that there wasn't ever any ! 
other like before or since, when the dear Boss put his arm 
around me and told me that he loved me; but if you care, | 
Angel, if you don't want it that way, why, I ain't remem- 
bering that any one else ever did — not in me whole life.” ] 

The Angel lifted her head and looked into the depths of 
Freckles’ honest gray eyes, and they met hers unwaver- 
ingly; but the pain in them was pitiful. 

“Do you mean,” she demanded, “that you don't re- 
member that a brazen, forward girl told you, when you 
hadn't asked her, that she” — the Angel choked on it a 
second, but she gave a gulp and brought it out bravely — 
“that she loved you?” 

“No!” cried Freckles. “No! I don’t remember any- 
thing of the kind!” 

But all the song-birds of his soul burst into melody 
over that one little clause: “When you hadn't asked her.” 

“But you will,” said the Angel. “You may live to be 
an old, old man, and then you will.” 

“I will not!” cried Freckles. “How can you think it, 
Angel?” 

“You won’t even look as if you remember?” 

“I will not! ’ persisted Freckles. “I'll be swearing tG 
it if you want me to. If you wasn’t too tired to think this 
thing out straight, you'd be seeing that I couldn’t — that 
I just simply couldn't! I'd rather give it all up now and 
go into eternity alone, without ever seeing a soul of me 


FINDS HIS BIRTHRIGHT 


335 

same blood, or me home, or hearing another man call me 
by the name I was born to, than to remember anything 
that would be hurting you, Angel. I should think you'd 
be understanding that it ain’t no ways possible for me to 
do it.” 

The Angel’s tear-stained face flashed into dazzling 
beauty. A half-hysterical little laugh broke from her 
heart and bubbled over her lips. 

“Oh, Freckles, forgive me!” she cried. “I’ve been 
dirough so much that I’m scarcely myself, or I wouldn’t 
be here bothering you when you should be sleeping. Of 
course you couldn’t! I knew it all the time! I was just 
scared! I was forgetting that you were you! You’re 
too good a knight to remember a thing like that. Of 
course you are! And when you don’t remember, why, 
then it’s the same as if it never happened. I was almost 
killed because I’d gone and spoiled everything, but now 
it will be all right. Now you can go on and do things like 
©ther men, and I can have some flowers, and letters, and 
my sweetheart coming, and when you are sure , why, then 
you can tell me things, can’t you? Oh, Freckles, I’m so 
glad! Oh, I’m so happy! It’s dear of you not to re- 
member, Freckles; perfectly dear! It’s no wonder I love 
you so. The wonder would be if I did not. Oh, I should 
like to know how I’m ever going to make you understand 
how much I love you!” 

Pillow and all, she caught him to her breast one long 
second; then she was gone. 

Freckles lay dazed with astonishment. At last his 
amazed eyes searched the room for something approach- 


FRECKLES 


336 

ing the human to which he could appeal, and falling or his 
mother's portrait, he set it before him. 

“For the love of life! Me little mother," he panted, 
“did you hear that? Did you hear it! Tell me, am I 
living, or am I dead and all heaven com? true this minute? 
Did you hear it?" 

He shook the frame in his impatience at receiving no 
answer. 

“You are only a pictured face," he said at last, “and 
of course you can't talk; but the soul of you must be 
somewhere, and surely in this hour you are close enough 
to be hearing. Tell me, did you hear that? I can’t ever 
be telling a living soul; but darling little mother, who gave 
your life for mine, I can always be talking of it to you! 
Every day we’ll talk it over and try to understand the 
miracle of it. Tell me, are all women like that? Were 
you like me Swamp Angel? If you were, then I'm under- 
standing why me father followed across the ocean and 
went into the fire." 


CHAPTER XX 


Wherein Freckles Returns to the Limberlost, an* 
Lord O’More Sails for Ireland Without Him 


4 



CHAPTER XX 


Wherein Freckles Returns to the Limberlost, and 
Lord O’More Sails for Ireland Without Him 

F RECKLES’ voice ceased, his eyes closed, and his 
head rolled back from exhaustion. Later in the 
day he insisted on seeing Lord and Lady O’More, 
but he fainted before the resemblance of another man to 
him, and gave all of his friends a terrible fright. 

The next morning, the Man of Affairs, with a heart 
filled with misgivings, undertook the interview on which 
Freckles insisted. His fears were without cause. Frec- 
kles was the soul of honour and simplicity. 

“Have they been telling you what’s come to me?” he 
asked without even waiting for a greeting. 

“Yes,” said the Angel’s father. 

“Do you think you have the very worst of it clear to 
your understanding?” 

Under Freckles’ earnest eyes the Man of Affairs answered 
soberly: “I think I have, Mr. O’More.” 

That was the first time Freckles heard his name from 
the lips of another. One second he lay overcome; the 
next, tears filled his eyes, and he reached out his hand. 
Then the Angel’s father understood, and he clasped that 
hand and held it in a strong, firm grasp. 

“Terence, my boy,” he said, “let me do the talking. I 


339 


FRECKLES 


340 

came here with the understanding that you wanted to 
ask me for my only child. I should like, at the proper 
time, to regard her marriage, if she has found the man she 
desires to marry, not as losing all I have, but as gaining 
a man on whom I can depend to love as a son and to take 
charge of my affairs for her when I retire from business. 
Bend all of your energies toward rapid recovery, and 
from this hour understand that my daughter and my home 
are yours/’ 

“ You’re not forgetting this?” 

Freckles lifted his right arm. 

“Terence, I’m sorrier than I have words to express 
about that,” said the Man of Affairs. “It’s a damnable 
pity! But if it’s for me to choose whether I give all I 
have left in this world to a man lacking a hand, or to one of 
these gambling, tippling, immoral spendthrifts of to-day, 
with both hands and feet off their souls, and a rotten spot 
in the core, I choose you; and it seems that my daughter 
does the same. Put what is left you of that right arm to 
the best uses you can in this world, and never again men- 
tion or feel that it is defective so long as you live. Good- 
day, sir!” 

“One minute more,” said Freckles. “Yesterday the 
Angel was telling me that there was money coming to me 
from two sources. She said that me grandmother had 
left me father all of her fortune and her house, because she 
knew that his father would be cutting him off, and also 
that me uncle had set aside for me what would be me 
father’s interest in his father’s estate. 

“Whatever the sum is that me grandmother left me 


RETURNS TO THE LIMBERLOST 341 

father, because she loved him and wanted him to be having 
it, that I 11 be taking. ’Twas hers from her father, and 
she had the right to be giving it as she chose. Anything 
from the man that knowingly left me father and me 
mother to go cold and hungry, and into the fire in misery, 
when just a little would have made life so beautiful to 
them, and saved me this crippled body — money that he 
willed from me when he knew I was living, of his blood 
and on charity among strangers, I don’t touch, not if I 
freeze, starve, and burn too! If there ain’t enough be- 
sides that, and I can’t be earning enough to fix things for 
the Angel ” 

“We are not discussing money!” burst in the Man of 
Affairs. “We don’t want any blood-money! We have 
all we need without it. If you don’t feel right and easy 
over it, don’t you touch a cent of any of it.” 

“It’s right I should have what me grandmother intinded 
for me father, and I want it,” said Freckles, “but I’d die 
before I’d touch a cent of me grandfather’s money!” 

“Now,” said the Angel, “we are all going home. We 
have done all we can for Freckles. His people are here. 
He should know them. They are very anxious to become 
acquainted with him. We’ll resign him to them. When 
he is well, why, then he will be perfectly free to go to 
Ireland or come to the Limberlost, just as he chooses. 
We will go at once.” 

McLean held out for a week, and then he could endure 
it no longer. He was heart-hungry for Freckles. Com- 
muning with himself in the long, soundful nights of the 


FRECKLES 


342 

swamp, he had learned to his astonishment that for the 
past year his heart had been circling the Limberlost with 
Freckles. He began to wish that he had not left him. Per- 
haps the boy — his boy by first right, after all — was being 
neglected. If the Boss had been a nervous old woman, 
he scarcely could have imagined more things that might 
be going wrong. 

He started for Chicago, loaded with a big box of golden- 
rod, asters, fringed gentians, and crimson leaves, that the 
Angel carefully had gathered from Freckles’ room, and a 
little, long slender package. He travelled with biting, 
stinging jealousy in his heart. He would not admit it 
even to himself, but he was unable to remain longer away 
from Freckles and leave him to the care of Lord O’More. 

In a few minutes’ talk, while McLean awaited admission 
to Freckles’ room, his lordship had chatted genially of 
Freckles’ rapid recovery, of his delight that he was un- 
spotted by his early surroundings, and his desire to visit 
the Limberlost with Freckles before they sailed; he ex- 
pressed the hope that he could prevail upon the Angel’s 
father to place her in his wife’s care and have her education 
finished in Paris. He said they were anxious to do all 
they could to help bind Freckles’ arrangements with the 
Angel, as both he and Lady O’More regarded her as the 
most promising girl they knew, and one who could be 
fitted to fill the high position in which Freckles would 
place her. 

Every word he uttered was pungent with bitterness 
to McLean. The swamp had lost its flavour without 
Freckles; and yet, as Lord O’More talked, McLean fer- 


KATHLEEN NORRIS’ STORIES 


May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list 

SISTERS. Frontispiece by Frank Street. 

The California Redwoods furnish the background for this 
beautiful story of sisterly devotion and sacrifice. 

POOR, DEAR, MARGARET KIRBY. 

Frontispiece by George Gibbs. 

A collection of delightful stories, including “Bridging the 
Years ” and “ The Tide-Marsh.” This story is now shown in 
moving pictures. 

)OSSELYN , S WIFE . Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert. 

The story of a beautiful woman who fought a bitter fight for 
happiness and love. 

MARTIE, THE UNCONQUERED. 

Illustrated by Charles E. Chambers. 

The triumph of a dauntless spirit over adverse conditions. 

THE HEART OF RACHAEL. 

Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers. 

An interesting story of divorce and the problems that come 
with a second marriage. 

THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE. 

Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert. 

A sympathetic portrayal of the quest of a normal girl, obscure 
and lonely, for the happiness of life. 

SATURDAY’S CHILD. Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes. 

Can a girl, born in rather sordid conditions, lift herself through 
sheer determination to the better things for which her soul 
hungered ? 

MOTHER. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. 

A story of the big mother heart that beats in the background 
of every girl’s life, and some dreams which came true. 

Ask. for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction 

Grosset Sc Dunlap, Publishers, New York 


EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS 
NOVELS 

May be had wheraver books are sold. Ask for Srosset & Dunlap’s list. 

TARZAN THE UNTAMED 

Tells of Tarzan’ s return to the life of the ape-man in 
his search for vengeance on those who took from him his 
wife and home. 

JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN 

Records the many wonderful exploits by which Tarzan 
proves his right to ape kingship. 

A PRINCESS OF MARS 

Forty-three million miles from the earth — a succession 
of the weirdest and most astounding adventures in fiction. 
John Carter, American, finds himself on the planet Mars, 
battling for a beautiful woman, with the Green Men of 
Mars, terrible creatures fifteen feet high, mounted on 
horses like dragons. 

THE GODS OF MARS 

Continuing John Carter’ s adventures on the Planet Mars, 
in which he does battle against the ferocious “plant men,” 
creatures whose mighty tails swished their victims to instant 
death, and defies Issus, the terrible Goddess of Death, 
whom all Mars worships and reveres. 

THE WARLORD OF MARS 

Old acquaintances, made in the two other stories, reap- 
pear, Tars Tarkas, Tardos Mors and others. There is a 
happy ending to the story in the union of the Warlord, 
the title conferred upon John Carter, with Dejah Thoris. 

THUVIA, MAID OF MARS 

The fourth volume of the series. The story centers 
around the adventures of Carthoris, the son of John Car- 
ter and Thuvia, daughter of a Martian Emperor. 

GRO SSET & DUNLA P . Publishers, NEW YORK 


FLORENCE L. BARCLAY’S 
NOVELS 

May be had wharever books are soid. Ask for Grossot & Dnnlap’s list 

THE WHITE LADIES OF WORCESTER 

A novel of the 12th Century. The heroine, believing she 
had lost her lover, enters a convent. He returns, and in- 
teresting developments follow. 

THE UPAS TREE 

A love story of rare charm. It deals with a successful 
author and his wife. 

THROUGH THE POSTERN GATE 

The story of a seven day courtship, in which the dis- 
crepancy in ages vanished into insignificance before the 
convincing demonstration of abiding love. 

T HE ROSARY 

The story of a young artist who is reputed to love beauty 
above all else in the world, but who, when blinded through 
an accident, gains life’s greatest happiness. A rare story 
of the great passion of two real people superbly capable of 
love, its sacrifices and its exceeding reward. 

THE MISTRESS OF SHENSTONE 

The lovely young Lady Ingleby, recently widowed by the 
death of a husband who never understood her, meets a fine, 
clean young chap who is ignorant of her title and they fall 
deeply in love with each other. When he learns her real 
identity a situation of singular power is developed. 

THE BROKEN HALO 

The story of a young man whose religious belief was 
shattered in childhood and restored to him by the little 
white lady, many years older than himself, to whom he is 
passionately devoted. 

THE FOLLOWING OF THE STAR 
The story of a young missionary, who, about to start for 
Africa, marries wealthy Diana Rivers, in order to help her 
fulfill the conditions of her uncle’s will, and how they finally 
come to love each other and are reunited after experiences 
that soften and purify. 

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 


ETHEL M. DELL’S NOVELS 


May ba had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. 

THE LAMP IN THE DESERT 

The scene of this splendid story is laid in India anc 
tells of the lamp of love that continues to shine through 
all sorts of tribulations to final happiness. 

GREATHEART 

The story of a cripple whose deformed body conceals 
a noble soul. 

THE HUNDREDTH CHANCE 

A hero who worked to win even when there was only 
“ a hundredth chance.* * 

THE SWINDLER 

The story of a “bad man* s’* soul revealed by a 
woman’s faith. 

THE TIDAL WAVE 

Tales of love and of women who learned to know the 
true from the false. 

THE SAFETY CURTAIN 

A very vivid love story of India. The volume also 
contains four other long stories of equal interest. 

G.ROSSET & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 


ELEANOR H. PORTER’S NOVELS 

May ba had whorevsr books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. 

JUST DAVID 

The tale of a loveable boy and the place he comes to 
fill in the hearts of the gruff farmer folk to whose care he 
is left. 

THE ROAD TO UNDERSTANDING 

A compelling romance of love and marriage. 

OH, MONEY i MONEY ! 

Stanley Fulton, a wealthy bachelor, to test the disposi- 
tions of his relatives, sends them each a check for $100,- 
000, and then as plain John Smith comes among them to 
watch the result of his experiment. 

SIX STAR RANCH 

A wholesome story of a club of six girls and their sum- 
mer on Six Star Ranch. 

DAWN 

The story of a blind boy whose courage leads him 
through the gulf of despair into a final victory gained by 
dedicating his life to the service of blind soldiers. 

ACROSS THE YEARS 

Short stories of our own kind and of our own people. 
Contains some of the best writing Mrs. Porter has done- 

THE TANGLED THREADS 

In these stories we find the concentrated charm and 
tenderness of all her other books. 

THE TIE THAT BINDS 

Intensely human stories told with Mrs. Porter’s won- 
derful talent for warm and vivid character drawing. 

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 


THE NOVELS OF 

MARY ROBERTS RINEHART 

May ba had wherever books arc soM. Ask for Grosset ft Dunlap's list. 

DANGEROUS DAYS. 

A brilliant story of married life. A romance of fine purpose and 
stirring appeal. 

THE AMAZING INTERLUDE. 

Illustrations by The Kinneys. 

The story of a great love which cannot be pictured — an interlude 
— amazing, romantic. 

LOVE STORIES. 

This book is exactly what its title indicates, a collection of love 
affairs — sparkling with humor, tenderness and sweetness. 

“K.” Illustrated. 

K. LeMoyne, famous surgeon, goes to live in a little town where . 
beautiful Sidney Page lives. She is in training to become a nurse. 
The joys and troubles of their young love are told with keen and 
sympathetic appreciation. 

THE MAN IN LOWER TEN. 

Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy. 

An absorbing detective story woven around the mysterious death 
of the “ Man in Lower Ten.” 

WHEN A MAN MARRIES. 

Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker. 

A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that 
his aunt is soon to visit him. The aunt, who contributes to the 
family income, knows nothing of the domestic upheaval. How the 
young man met the situation is entertainingly told. 

THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE. Illustrated by Lester Ralph. 

The occupants of “Sunnyside” find the dead body of Arnold 
Armstrong on the circular staircase. Following the murder a bank 
failure is announced. Around these two events is woven a plot of 
absorbing interest. 

THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS. (Photoplay Edition.) 

Harmony Wells, studying in Vienna to be a great violinist, sud- 
denly realizes that her money is almost gone. She meets a young 
ambitious doctor who offers her chivalry and sympathy, and together 
with world- worn Dr. Anna and Jimmie, the waif, they share their 
love and slender means. 

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 


/ 


ZANE GREY’S NOVELS 

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset A Dunlap’s list. 


THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
THE DESERT OF WHEAT 
THE U. P, TRAIL 
WILDFIRE 

THE BORDER LEGION 
THE RAINBOW TRAIL 
THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT 
RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE 
THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS 
THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
DESERT GOLD 
BETTY ZANE 

******* 

LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS 

The life story of "Buffalo Bill" by his sister Helen Cody 
Wetmore, with Foreword and conclusion by Zane Grey. 

ZANE GREY'S BOOKS FOR BOYS 

KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE 
THE YOUNG LION HUNTER 
THE YOUNG FORESTER 
THE YOUNG PITCHER 
THE SHORT STOP 

THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER 
BASEBALL STORIES 

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 


THE NOVELS OF 

CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM 


May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list. 


JEWEL: A Chapter in Her Life. 

Illustrated by Maude and Genevieve Cowles. 

A sweet, dainty story, breathing the doctrine of love and patienct 
and sweet nature and cheerfulness. 

JEWEL’S STORY BOOK. 

Illustrated by Albert Schmitt. 

A sequel to “Jewel” and equally enjoyable. 

CLEVER BETSY. 

Illustrated by Rose O’Neill. 

The “Clever Betsy” was a boat — named for the unyielding spin* 
ster whom the captain hoped to marry. Through the two Betsys a 
clever group of people are introduced to the reader. 

SWEET CLOVER : A Romance of the White City. 

A story of Chicago at the time of the World’s Fair. A sweet hu- 
man story that touches the heart. 

THE OPENED SHUTTERS. 

Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher. 

A summer haunt on an island in Casco Bay is the background 
for this romance. A beautiful woman, at discord with life, is brought 
to realize, by her new friends, that she may open the shutters of her 
soul to the blessed sunlight of joy by casting aside vanity and sel/ 
love. A delicately humorous work with a lofty motive underlying it all 

THE RIGHT PRINCESS . 

An amusing story, opening at a fashionable Long Island resort, 
where a stately Englishwoman employs a forcible New England 
housekeeper to serve in her interesting home. How types so widely 
apart react on each other’s lives, all to ultimate good, makes a stor„ 
both humorous and rich in sentiment. 

THE LEAVEN OF LOVE. 

Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher. 

At a Southern California resort a w f orld-weary woman, young and 
beautiful but disillusioned, meets a girl who has learned the art of 
living — of tasting life in all its richness, opulence and joy. The story 
hinges upon the change wrought in the soul of the blase woman by 
this glimpse into a cheery life. 


Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction 


Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York 


MYRTLE REED’S NOVELS 

S * 

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list. 


LAVENDER AND OLD LACE. 

A charming story of a quaint corner of New England. The story 
centers round the coming of love to the young people on the staff 
of a newspaper — and is one of the sweetest and quaintes of old- 
fashioned love stories. 

FLOWER OF THE DUSK. 

A crippled daughter struggles to keep up the deception of riches 
for the comfort of a blind father. Through the aid of an heiress 
and her surgeon lover both father and daughter are cured. 

MASTER OF THE VINEYARD, 

A pathetic love story of a young girl, Rosemary. The teacher of 
the country school, who is also master of the vineyard, comes to 
know her through her desire for books. She is happy in his love till 
another woman comes into his life. But happiness comes to Rose- 
mary at last. 

OLD ROSE AND SILVER. 

A love story, — sentimental and humorous, — with the plot subor- 
dinate to the character delineation of its quaint people and to the 
exquisite descriptions of picturesque spots. 

A WEAVER OF DREAMS. 

This story tells of the love-affairs of three young people, with an 
old-fashioned romance in the background. 

A SPINNER IN THE SUN. 

An old-fashioned love story of a veiled lady who lives in solitude. 
There is a mystery that throws over it the glamour of romance, 

THE MASTER’S VIOLIN. 

A love story in a musical atmosphere, An old German virtuoso 
consents to take for his pupil a youth who proves to have an apti- 
tude for technique, but not the soul of an artist. But a girl 
comes into his life, and through his passionate love for her his soul 
awakes. 


Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 


“STORM COUNTRY ” BOOKS BY 

GRACE MILLER WHITE 


May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Srossot & Dunlap's list 


JUDY OF ROGUES’ HARBOR 

Judy’s untutored ideas of God, her love of wild things, 
her faith in life are quite as inspiring as those of Tess. 
Her faith and sincerity catch at your heart strings. This 
book has all of the mystery and tense action of the other 
Storm Country books. 

TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY 

It was as Tess, beautiful, wild, impetuous, that Mary 
Pickford made her reputation as a motion picture actress. 
How love acts upon a temperament such as hers — a tem- 
perament that makes a woman an angel or an outcast, ac- 
cording t the character of the man she loves — is the 
theme of the story. 

THE SECRET OF THE STORM COUNTRY 

The sequel to “ Tess of the Storm Country,” with the 
same wild background, with its half-gypsy life of the squat- 
ters — tempestuous, passionate, brooding. Tess learns the 
“ secret ” of her birth and finds happiness and love through 
her boundless faith in life. 

FROM THE VALLEY OF THE MISSING 

A haunting story with its scene laid near the country 
familiar to readers of “ Tess of the Storm Country.” 

ROSE O’ PARADISE 

“ Jinny” Singleton, wild, lovely, lonely, but with a pas- 
sionate yearning for music, grows up in the house of Lafe 
Grandoken, a crippled cobbler of the Storm Country. Her 
romance is full of power and glory and tenderness. 


Ask for Complete free list of G . & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction 


Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 














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